I didn't get many reviews! I was hoping for three or four, but oh well… After all, when I started Let It Go, it did took a while before having a lot of reviews… So don't forget to leave a little word, even if you didn't like… ;)

And big thanks to those who did take time to review, it means the world to me! ;)

Answers to reviews:

Aria: Thank you so much for encouraging me! It's really what keeps me going. Thanks again. ;)

Lydia the tygeropean: Thanks, ;)

Disclaimer: (goes also for chapter 1, and all the other chapters in this book, because seriously, it's annoying to ALWAYS write the same thing) I do not own anything coming from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera (because if I did, we would have seen a better Love Never Dies), nor Susan Kay's Phantom. Anything coming from Leroux's novel belongs to the public domain.

Chapter 2

Antoinette headed back towards the dormitory, looking as casual as she could, when the girls who had accompanied her to the gipsy camp rushed towards her.

"Oh, Antoinette, where were you? We've been looking for you everywhere? We were so afraid you were still in that filthy shack."

"I got out after the show was finished," answered Antoinette, interiorly asking herself how she managed to stay so calm. "Then I got out and wandered around in the street… I didn't feel like staying near the camp anymore…"

"We didn't stay there either. Oh, that show was horrible, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," replied Antoinette. "And that poor child…"

"That disgusting little thing? Ugh! No wonder he finished up there! Have you heard the news? He strangled his master!"

"I can sort of understand why," continued Antoinette, gloomily.

The girls, for a moment, stared at her, some unbelievingly, others disdainfully, and turned away, not continuing the conversation. Anyway, Antoinette didn't feel like talking about it anymore.

She felt nothing but disgust. Not towards a poor innocent boy who never had luck, but towards her companions. How could they be so superficial? All they seemed to see was the disfigurement they had contemplated and the horrible fact that, at so young an age, he had committed a murder.

But Antoinette could see so much more in him. Was he ever taught of what was right and what was wrong? Did he have a mother to love him since his birth? Where his disfigurement came from, she had no idea. Was it a birth defect? Was it a terrible accident? She preferred not to imagine the horrible scenarios which implicated the latter.

She didn't dare to think about the girls' reaction to the knowledge that she had helped him to escape. If ever the boy was discovered, it would certainly be easy for people to find out she had been his accomplice… Accomplice of a murder… Antoinette trembled at the idea of what could await her. But strangely, she felt absolutely no regrets. Somehow, she knew she had done the right thing. And that was it.

That night, she could do nothing but thinking of the little boy, hidden in the chapel, waiting impatiently for the moment where she could go see him. She remembered the strange attraction she had felt towards the gipsy camp, the very day she had arrived to the Opera Populaire. Was she meant to come across the boy's path?

Maybe.

It was when midnight rang that Antoinette finally decided it was time for her to go and see her protégé. Almost all the ballerinas were asleep in the dormitory, and by "almost", it meant some of them who, thankfully (well… considering the situation) were out with whom the elder dancers would call, with a lot of tact, their "beaux". She would be able to get out, without being bothered by a curious girl.

Quickly, she got up silently, shivering a bit in her nightgown, and reached under her bed, where she had kept secretly a few leftovers from her supper: a cup of water, bread, a piece of cheese and a bit of ham. The poor child was probably famished, thin like he was.

Antoinette got out of the dormitory, not even with a candle to guide her in the darkness, since she was afraid of being seen. Thankfully, the darkness in the corridors wasn't complete, but it sort of gave a supernatural gloom to them. For a moment, Antoinette shivered. The place looks haunted. But the thought of the Opera Populaire seized under the grasp of some ghost was so ridiculous to her that she mentally laughed at herself and, finally, she arrived in front of the chapel's door.

Slowly, she opened it, so the boy wouldn't be too surprised of his entrance. Antoinette peered around, trying to find his silhouette in the shadows, but he was nowhere to be seen. Or he had followed her orders… or he had run away. Antoinette crossed her fingers so it wouldn't be the second option, which had struck her violently. Seriously, this was the most probable thing that would have happened, and she hadn't even thought of it… But where would he go, anyway?

Closing her eyes tightly, Antoinette's voice rang in the dark, as softly as she could:

"It's me… Are you there?"

No answer. The evidence of her hypothesis became more and more evident. Antoinette tried one last attempt:

"I brought some food…"

Finally, a silhouette distinguished itself from the darkness and, shyly, the boy came out, his potato sack still on his head. His shoulders, lifted up because of the tension, immediately lowered. Antoinette also felt pressure leaving her, happy that her protégé hadn't ran away.

"Did anyone come while you were here?"

The boy nodded negatively. Great. The chapel would be a good hiding place, at least for a while.

With a little smile, Antoinette sat on the floor, putting down the plate of bread, cheese and ham and the cup of water. For a moment, the boy seemed afraid of touching it, but, when he saw Antoinette's encouraging face, without further ado, he almost jumped on his supper, still keeping his sack on, slipping his mouthfuls under it and into his mouth, eating so voraciously that the ballerina felt a sob lifting up in her throat. But soon, she remembered something very important her mother had told her about eating with a very empty stomach…

"Don't eat too fast," she said speedily, "or you'll throw up." The boy let go of the piece of bread he was holding, and seemed somehow afraid of touching the food again. Immediately, Antoinette added: "Take your time. No one will take your meal from you."

The boy looked into the ballerina's eyes, and for the first time, she was surprised of what she had seen: it was different from the murderous, too mature and terrified gaze she had seen from the shack. There was now thankfulness, but also, a gleam showing a great intelligence. It was hard to describe. It was just there, and Antoinette could do nothing but feel it.

It was only then that she attempted to know him better. Did he have a name? Certainly. But the boy didn't seem too talkative.

"I'm Antoinette," she started softly. "Do you have a name?"

It took a while before the boy answered, and the ballerina thought, for a moment, that he was going to remain silent.

"Erik," he finally answered.

A crystalline, musical voice had pronounced this name. For a moment, Antoinette thought someone had answered at the boy's place. But it was truly him who had spoken. It contrasted so much with his appearance, she remarked somehow sullenly. It was then that she thought he seriously needed a bath and new clothes. He couldn't stay like this. Well, it would be difficult for the clothes… maybe if she searched in the costume department, she could find something. But he definitely needed a bath. NOW.

"Um… do you want to take a bath?"

Antoinette felt incredibly foolish of asking him this. But she didn't really know how else she could get him to soap himself a bit.

"How?" was his practical question.

The ballerina thought intently for a second.

"There a bowl in the dormitory I could carry here easily," she said, talking for herself as much as she was talking to Erik. "I could go to the kitchen and get the hot water that is in reserve there, since I was told there was always some, and I have soap and a sponge for my personal use." Without further ado, Antoinette got up to her feet, and after whispering "I'll be back!", she rushed towards the kitchen, seizing the big kettle resting near the fireplace, and happy to see it was full of hot water, she dragged it more than she carried it towards the chapel, since it was very heavy.

She entered, and putting down the kettle, glancing quickly at Erik with a little smile, she headed towards the dormitory, for the most difficult part of her plan.

It was easy to go to her bed, open the drawer of her night table and to get her sponge and her soap without waking anybody, and placing them in the bowl to carry it out towards the chapel... But it was only as she walked in the corridors that she realized that she had one major problem: how would she empty out the bowl when she would be finished with it? Well, she could hide it in the chapel for a while and find a way… Anyway, the room seemed abandoned, and the candles which had been lit there had been all lit by Antoinette, a few days earlier, on her first visit, to bring in a little light. She would just have to look as innocent as possible when Mme Saint-Périer would ask them where the bowl had gone…

Antoinette entered the chapel, to see Erik always waiting patiently for her, his sack well placed. She deposited the bowl on the ground, placed the sponge and the soap just beside it, seized the kettle and poured all the hot water in it. There was just enough for a bath… though Erik was so dirty Antoinette was afraid she would have to change the water anyway… And how to get some more, she had no idea.

Slowly, Erik unbuttoned his shirt, revealing still bleeding scars on his torso and stopped, seemingly embarrassed, not daring to take off nor his pants nor, of course, his improvised mask. Antoinette, retaining herself from sobbing because of such a heartbreaking sight, asked as calmly as she could:

"Do you need any help?"

"No," Erik answered, somehow disdainfully. With a quick gesture of the head, he gestured to Antoinette to turn around, to allow himself more privacy. Still with tears in her eyes, but with the shadow of a smile, the ballerina couldn't help herself from wondering if he wasn't some lost prince kidnapped from his royal family when he was still an infant.

About two minutes later, Antoinette, who had heard just before the murmur of clothing being tossed on the floor, than nothing, finally distinguished the sound of teeth snapping nervously. It was only then that she dared to turn around, to see Erik, without his "mask", completely naked, curled up, shivering almost in a feverish way. Immediately, when he saw that Antoinette was looking at him, he turned away with a smothered cry, hiding his disfigurement as much as he could.

Without further ado, Antoinette rushed to the bowl, plunging the sponge in, touched Erik gently on the shoulder, and, as delicately as she could, she turned his head towards her, and started cleaning it, like if he was a little child. And, strangely, the boy let her.

Now that his face was clean, Antoinette could see his disfigurement very well. The left side of his face wasn't pretty at all, to talk delicately. The right side… well, she realized with pain that if it wasn't for that curse he had been struck with, he could have been a rather lovely child. And somehow, he reminded her a bit of Petit-François, her own little brother, though he was his total contrary. Where Erik was sullen and taciturn, Petit-François was joyful and talkative. Mentally shaking herself a bit, she was going to take the soap to clean up the rest of his body when Erik suddenly stopped her.

"I can do the rest," he whispered roughly.

Antoinette didn't feel offended one bit of his coarseness. After all, she sort of understood why… With a soft grin, she turned away, once again, to let him finish his bath by himself.

"Thank you," she suddenly heard, behind her. She turned back to Erik, to see that a very thin shadow of a smile had appeared, finally, on his face. A wide grin answered Erik's, and immediately, Antoinette, feeling less intimidated, said:

"I'll try to go into the costume department and get you new clothes… Probably I could find something your size…"

"Antoinette! Antoinette, wake up!"

In a jump, the ballerina woke up, to see Valentine Bouchard, a soloist and one of the elder ballerinas, shaking her gently.

"Today is your big day! The hard work is starting," Valentine added, with a little wink.

Just the thought of it made Antoinette want to crash back on her bed. Three o'clock had wrung at the clock when finally, without making any noise, she had gone back into her bed, in the ballerinas' dormitory. Erik was all settled in the chapel, with clean clothes (a pageboy costume she had found by slipping in quickly in the costume department, and which seemed to be Erik's size). Not knowing what to do with the bowl, full of dirty water, Erik and Antoinette had pushed it in an unseen corner. She had worried, for a moment, about the boy's bed, but he had shrugged, saying that he didn't sleep much, anyway. After making Erik promise that he would stay unseen in the chapel, she had headed back to go to sleep… but she was totally unable of it.

This situation wouldn't last forever. Erik couldn't always stay in that chapel, with only the leftovers of her meals that she could bring him only at night, for she didn't feel it was safe enough to come and see him during the day. And she had to find a way and fast.

All day, Antoinette fought very hard against the temptation of thinking of Erik. Today, she had to prove to the ballet mistress of what she was capable of. And she was satisfied to see that often, Mme Saint-Périer complimented her. Her mother would be proud of her, when she would tell her all about it in her next letter…

Once again, when the clock struck midnight, Antoinette, who had kept a bit of her supper for Erik, headed back silently towards the chapel.

When she entered silently, whispering: "Erik? It's me, Antoinette," she was surprised to see her protégé immediately heading towards her, a white half-mask hiding his disfigurement, though not completely, since Antoinette could still see the bald part of his head, and seemingly excited. That was quite a change…

"I found a secret passageway!" he gasped.

The ballerina's eyes widened. "How… did you find it?"

"I had nothing else to do," Erik shrugged. "It goes everywhere in the Opera house! I can see almost everything! And there are even secret doors to different rooms."

"Be careful," Antoinette immediately added. "If someone hears you…"

"It will never happen," Erik replied, seemingly insulted. Once again, Antoinette pinched herself not to laugh. With his little arrogant looks, she was once again wondering if he wasn't some cursed prince kidnapped by a witch and sent to that gipsy camp. Without further ado, she showed Erik the food she had brought him.

"I've kept this for you…"

"Thank you, but I took some in the kitchen. There's a door in the secret passageway leading there…"

"ERIK!" Antoinette shouted, before realizing she had spoken a bit too loudly.

"No one saw me," Erik replied. "I learned how to take things and stay unseen, you know."

The ballerina looked down, and sighed.

"If you ever need something, though… You can tell me. I'll always do my best."

And here you go! Don't forget to let a little review! ;)