A/N: FF ate up my post by refusing to let me save, so this is me with a much shorter version of my original author's note. Life has been pretty rough these couple of weeks, with a lot of things on my mind, and I'm so sorry I had to take a hiatus last week! I'm a little hesitant as to whether I should continue this story, what with the state of things in RL right now, but we'll see!

I can't write romance to save my life, so please give me a chance to improve with following chapters before you start to throw rotten tomatoes at me! I tried to take this chapter down a different path, so let me know what you think about it.

Thank you all for sticking around xx

Many thanks to TearsofFallingStars for the fav/follow!

Savannah White: Thank you as always! I've been reading your own story, but I'm sorry that I've been altogether too busy to leave any reviews! Keep up the good work though!

Masked Man 2: Sorry you had to have such a long wait! Hope this chapter is up to standards, it doesn't seem to fit quite well with me. Personally, I don't have anything against Christine, so I don't want to portray her as a villain (:

Eva: I do believe I've mentioned before that Erik has a half white mask, so he should be more like in the movie/musical, rather than the full black mask in the book! This is because I find it highly unlikely that a child with severe deformities and no nose would be able to live back in the 1800s, what with medical technology being not as advanced as it is today. Erik should possess a certain set of muscles too, what with all the climbing up of ropes, and lifting of heavy props and stuff. Thank you for reading!

Wild Concerto: We're all hoping Erik will do it XD

Chapter 21: The Start

Paris, 1894

Erik slammed a hand down on the keys of his organ in irritation, then withdrew his hand almost immediately, apologetically, sending them a silent word of apology with a soft touch to the keys again. What am I doing taking my anger out on music?

He had tried to immerse himself in the notes, the melody, but again and again Amélie's voice had rang through his head.

I know you can do this!

It's a brilliant opportunity.

You alone can help yourself change your fate.

He clenched his fists in frustration. How will I do that, Amélie? How will I face the crowds, the sneers, the laughing faces? How will I get through everything?

And again, her enthusiastic words, and that hopeful, pretty face—I'll even accompany you to any such meetings with the publisher!

Erik shook his head. He could think of no reason why she would feel beholden to him, no reason why she should feel obliged to help him in any way. He would not endanger her in any way through business dealings in the open; should anybody find out the true reason for the mask on his face, she as an accomplice would be in danger as well.

No. There was no way he would allow her to be hurt.

But that did not mean that he could not attempt to apologize to her for having been so rude. He had not missed the frustrated or hurt looks on her face at his refusal and rejections.

Erik tossed his cloak around his shoulders and made to leave his house.

He was halfway through the tunnel leading to the chapel when he heard it.

The soft, lilting melody of a girl's voice, trembling, and yet strong. Soft, and yet vibrant.

The crystal clear notes, interrupted only by the sounds of soft whimpers and sobs rang in Erik's ears, each note becoming greater in clarity as he slowly walked through the tunnel.

Erik thought that he was hearing the voice of an angel—that his poor, deluded mind had finally fooled itself into thinking that an angel would grace him with her presence. He gripped the rough brick of the walls around him tightly as he moved toward the source of the voice.

It was not an angel after all, but merely a child.

As he slid the entrance to the passageway open by a crack to reveal the chapel, he noticed the lone figure kneeling before the table, her body wracked with sobs. It was dark, but Erik was used to seeing in the dark. He could see that despite her tears, she was singing with all her heart, a song filled with bitter anguish, sorrow, and yet a hint of hope.

Erik had no idea what the song was, and had never heard it before in his life, but he opened his mouth, and softly, softly, began to sing an accompaniment to her song, composed on the spot, albeit a little clumsily, in his rich tenor.

As her music reached a soaring crescendo, the notes feverishly high in pitch, yet managing to retain their sweetness and strength, Erik felt his senses swell as he basked in the sound.

It was like nothing he had ever heard before.

It was at that moment that Erik decided that he would put that voice, whatever it took, on the stage of the Palais Garnier for the world to hear and revel in.

"Papa?" The plaintive voice cut through his thoughts, and Erik realized in shock that the girl had stopped singing, had in fact realized his presence. He panicked. Nobody must know of my existence!

"Papa? Is that you? Or are you the Angel of Music that papa promised he would send?" The girl sounded hopeful, and Erik narrowed his eyes curiously. Who is this Angel she speaks of?

When he remained silent, the girl quickly got up with a horrified expression on her face. "Is that really you, the Angel of Music? Have I angered you somehow?" She turned around on the spot wildly, as though she were trying to spot the celestial being she spoke of in the rafters of the chapel, her eyes scanning the darkness hopelessly.

It was the perfect chance. He could teach her what he knew, nurture her voice, and train her to be the best opera singer in the whole of Paris, the world, even. Carlotta would not stand another day on the stage for as long as this girl was ready to soar, her voice and soul one with the music. It was the best opportunity. The perfect chance.

Trying to tamp down on his excitement less he sounded shaky or nervous, Erik took a deep breath to steady his voice, and spoke the words that ensured that there would be no going back from that point onward.

"Yes, child, it is I, the Angel of Music."

XXXXX

2 months later

Paris, 1895

Amélie stood in the chapel by the hidden passageway, biting back a sigh of frustration. It was the umpteenth time that Erik was late, yet again, and he had never been late once in the past. Her Erik was somebody who prided himself on punctuality; he had always been there, ready, waiting for her, with a gloved hand stretched out invitingly the moment she reached the wall where the passageway was hidden.

'Her' Erik? Since when did he become 'my' Erik? Amélie frowned at her own thoughts, but at the same time, could not stop the niggling thought at the back of her mind. Is it possible that… something more than friendship?

There had always been the same excitement every time she met him, the same quickening of heartbeats as adrenaline pumped through her body, with her anticipation of meeting him. And yet, it had happened right from the start—that meant it was a normal feeling, and nothing more. She enjoyed meeting him, enjoyed his sarcastic and witty banter, and loved the feeling of being able to be comfortable in his house, her feet tucked up on the sofa as though it were her own. She smiled at the thought of the conspiratorial winks and grins between the two of them whenever she happened to spot that familiar white mask glinting from the rafters of the theatre, or in the shadows around the opera house, which was almost always followed by a loud shriek by a ballet rat.

But no, it was nothing. It had to be nothing. For one, Erik had never expressed any such attraction to her, and he did not strike her as a person who would be interested in such affairs. Amélie could almost imagine his sarcastic reply – 'Who could love a person like this? Even a mother could not.'

She sighed. Where is he, really?

For the past couple of months, Erik had been strangely busy. Or perhaps it was more appropriate to call it 'busier', since he was always busy with something or other. But regardless of his numerous projects in the past, which ranged from perfectly trivial things such as repainting his house, to the more serious tasks of convincing Debienne via letters from the Opera Ghost regarding certain decisions to be made about the opera house, he had never been late before—he had always made time to come to meet her.

Now Amélie felt a strange sense of insecurity creeping about in her mind, but she told herself firmly to put it aside. We are not joined to the hip, and he is allowed to have his own life, after all.

But he promised he would be here always.

He's just late, not absent.

He's never been late before! Does this mean something?

Oh, listen to yourself, are you whining for attention like a child?

But he—

The soft creak of the wall sliding open from next to her broke through her reverie of thoughts, and Amélie was glad for the respite it provided from the warring voices swirling through her mind.

It did not, however, stop her from blurting out her irritation. "You're late. Again."

She winced the moment she said it—she sounded too righteous, too petty, too spoilt. After all, she herself had been late so many more times than Erik had ever been, and he had certainly never said anything about it. She sighed.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for." She bit her lip, looking down. "I'm sure you were busy doing something, and I myself have been late so many times, after all…"

Erik looked at her, worrying her lips with her teeth, and sighed. He had not been annoyed, but merely a little worried that she would be angry that he was late yet again. He had not meant to be late, but the time had flew by, and he had lost all notice of it. He extended his hand to her.

Amélie took it hesitantly, and followed him into the passageway.

As they walked, she could feel his fingers tightening around hers in a protective embrace, and she smiled a little.

She was all too aware of his formidable presence within the small tunnel.

As they walked, their shoulders occasionally bumped, and Amélie had no choice but to suck in a breath each time it happened.

It was strange that she had hardly ever noticed it before.

As they stepped into the lit cavern where the gondola awaited, Erik paused and peered at her face closely. As he lifted his hand toward her face, reaching toward her, Amélie could have shrieked. As it was, she gave a little squeal, jumping away from him, her fingers disentangling themselves from his. Erik frowned.

"There's a cobweb in your hair."

"What? Get it out!" Amélie shouted. She could not stand spiders or bugs of any kind, despite reassurances that 'they were more scared of her', or that they were 'harmless'. She did not want them killed, but she simply wanted them out of her way. She shook her head vigorously, as though that could dislodge the sticky strands of spider's web in her hair.

"That, my dear girl, was what I was attempting to do before you made an unladylike sound and threw yourself away from me." He said quite sensibly. "However, now, I find that it is rather amusing to watch you in a state of distress."

"Erik!" She all but yowled, jerking her head toward him. "Is it still there? Is there… is there a spider?"

She could have sworn she saw a glimmer of jest, a sparkle of amusement glinting in his eyes, but he merely nodded his head solemnly. Amélie stared at him pleadingly, pointing to her head.

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that rippled through Amélie's body. Reaching out, he combed his fingers gently through her hair, the coppery strands sifting through his fingers as he picked out the pieces of dusty cobweb. As his hand trailed down the strands of her hair, it paused right next to her face, hovering above a rosy cheek.

Amélie's eyes met his, and she did not dare to breathe. She could feel her heart beating hard within her. His eyes were, as ever, glittering with unknown depths, cold, yet with a hidden softness.

There was a moment of silence between the two, as they stood, frozen, his hand not daring to touch.

Then the moment ended, and he smiled, that crooked smile that Amélie liked so much, with a corner of his mouth tilting upward just for a second. He turned to walk toward the gondola, leaving Amélie blustering behind him, hurrying to catch up with his long strides.

The silence in the underground tunnels was broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ceilings, the smooth slide of the pole through the water, propelling them forward, and the irregular, random bars of melody that Erik hummed under his breath while pushing the gondola through the water. Ever since a few months ago, those irregular bars of music had become more frequent, and Erik now spent much of the time travelling across the water murmuring notes beneath his breath.

As they waited for the portcullis to rise, Amélie could bear the quietness no longer.

"What are you singing, Erik?"

It took him a moment to realize that she was speaking to him, as though he had been distracted greatly. He blinked at her a couple of times. "It is nothing of importance, just something I have been working on."

"You are always working on something, but I've never heard you sing the same melody repeatedly before." Amélie pointed out.

He smiled thinly, picking up the pole again to propel them beyond the risen portcullis. "I aim for perfection. I am trying to get this right." And nothing more was said for the rest of the journey. Erik continued humming the same tune, pausing occasionally to change certain notes, before repeating it again to see if it was to his satisfaction.

When they reached the shore, Amélie stepped out of the gondola. "Will you play for me, then?"

Erik, who had been in the middle of removing his cloak, paused. "Play?"

"Whatever you have been working on." Amélie shrugged. "It has been some time since you last played for me, and you know I do so love to hear you play."

"I did not invite you down to perform for you," he remarked, parroting his words the first time she had come down to his house with a crooked grin upon his face. "However, for your sake, mademoiselle, I will play a short piece."

Amélie felt a shiver of pleasure, which brought a smile to her face. "Why, thank you for your kindness, monsieur," she said dryly, settling herself on the divan. Erik made ready to perform, removing his gloves quickly and setting them on a nearby table, before rolling up his sleeves, moving efficiently and quickly. There was a time when he would have refused to remove his gloves or push up his sleeves in her presence.

As he placed his large hands upon the ivory keys, Amélie steeled herself for the onslaught of the music. Erik's music was always powerful—strong, passionate, and overwhelming, though at the same time it could be as gentle and as lulling as a child's lullaby. The song started out slowly, softly, a whisper in the cavern of his house, with a lilting melody that echoed hauntingly in Amélie's head. As it reached a gliding crescendo, the notes blossomed and swelled into the peak of the music, before crashing back down into a soft, seductive whisper again, the notes travelling upward to hit a high pitch, gently and almost inaudibly.

And almost imperceptibly, the song quickly shifted into a different piece, one filled with discordant chords and a strange, burning melody that made Amélie feel as though her body was on fire. The loud chords rang through the room, jangling in Amélie's head, and when it ended, she was glad for the quiet respite the silence provided.

Erik had lifted his hands off the organ, and was staring at her intently. "You did not like it."

As always, he was too perceptive.

"No, that's not true." She said defensively, almost feeling guilty for having less than positive emotions about one of his pieces—she had always loved his music. He raised an eyebrow quizzically, and she bit her lip, agonizing over how to answer.

"I'm not offended, Amélie." He shrugged carelessly, though she could tell he was affected somehow. "You can tell me what you think."

"Well, it is not that I do not like it, it's just that… well, there were two songs within the piece you played, were there not? It felt different to me somehow, but I could be wrong, seeing as I know nothing about music."

"You noticed." And almost immediately, a small smile blossomed across his face, making him seem much younger than he actually was.

"I did." Amélie smiled back. "Both pieces were beautiful, but in different ways. The first was a soft, gentle piece, yet with a strong passion beneath the notes. The second felt… forced, in a sense. As though the feelings behind the music were strong, and yet all too wrong. It was a brilliant piece of music, just…"

"It was not to your liking." He stared at her intently.

Amélie nodded. "What were the songs about? You normally have words to fit into the music, do you not?"

He got up from the organ bench, striding across the room to rest himself on the divan next to her languidly, before turning to fix her with that piercing green stare. "Seduction. They were about seduction."

A/N: As usual, please read/review/fav/follow/let me know what you think! Hopefully a new chapter will be up next week! xx hazel