A/N: Told you more would come soon. :P Once again I own nothing!

I couldn't sleep that night. I do not know why. I also don't know why I expected him to still be there at three in the morning. But I went anyway. I took a thick blanket as well as my cloak—if he was still there, I did not want him sacrificing his cape over me and my foolish impulses.

Before I could have any second thoughts, there I was, back on the rooftop. It only took me a few moments to realize I didn't feel him there. So why did I stay? Again, I do not know. All I can recall is huddling beneath one of the statues near the stable rooftop and closing my eyes.

Two hours later, I awoke to hear the commotion of early morning deliveries. I stood, deciding to watch some before slipping back inside before I was missed. Several minutes later, I saw one of the opera house carriages leaving. Funny, I thought, I wonder who would be leaving… Taking a closer look, I saw that the passenger was Christine! Too far away to call out to her, I watched helplessly as the carriage disappeared. A minute later, there was the Vicomte, galloping after her on a white horse. Satisfied that she was safe at least, my thoughts then turned to the Phantom and our conversation hours before.

And then I remembered the mirror.

Pushing aside all thoughts of what Mama would do to me, I went inside. Stopping at my room only to drop off the blanket, I tiptoed down the corridor to the dressing room. As I slid into the secret passageway, the first thing I remembered was the rats. As I walked, my ears were filled with their squeaking. Suppressing the urge to gasp, scream, or run, I kept moving until I came to a flight of stairs.

I will not go into the details of every twist and turn, as there were just far too many of them. I will, however, mention the lake and the boat I found. Feeling butterflies in my stomach, I got in and made my way through the waters. Several minutes later, I came upon his living quarters. They had to be. So much artwork, so much darkness. I was thankful for the candles scattered about, as their light revealed further insight into his artistic talent. As I brought the boat to the landing and stepped out onto the stone floor, I marveled at the massive organ and the tiny monkey music box. For some reason, I was not surprised by the amount of art dedicated to Christine. Our last conversation had shown me just how much he cared for her.

Unfortunately, the candles also revealed another obvious observance—he wasn't there. Deciding against exploring too much into his private quarters, I instead opted to sit by the lake, waiting. He had to return sometime. And that sometime came two hours later, announced by splashing and cursing long before his shadowy figure appeared through the gated entrance.

His eyes first fell on the boat, and he cursed it repeatedly. As I watched and listened to him, I immediately started having those second thoughts about coming here. And yet I was too frozen to move. I started to squeeze my eyes shut, then realized how foolish that would be.

And then he was glaring at me. I gulped, but then chose to take my punishment standing up. His face changed then, from anger to recognition and finally confusion. "Marguerite…why have you come here?" His tone was sharp, and I could not blame him.

"I…couldn't sleep…" It was weak, but it was the truth.

"This opera house is filled with more than enough places you could have gone. Why here? And more importantly, how did you find this place?"

"I…found the passageway behind the mirror months ago, when I was looking for Christine…I only got a few steps before my mother stopped me…and I came here because…I suppose I was thinking of you…I was on the roof again, and I saw Christine leave…and then I thought of you…"

"Well you should not be here, Little Giry. Do you realize what your mother will do to you…to me?"

"Again, you mention my mother! Why?"

"Never mind!" His roaring voice echoed throughout the caverns, and I found myself backing up a bit. He softened again and sighed. "It is not for you to know. You were never supposed to see me…let alone talk to me…and to come into my private quarters by way of stealing my boat…" As he said this, I took notice of the lake water dripping off of his drenched clothes.

"I'm sorry…I thought you would be here…"

"Well I wasn't. Marguerite, when you saw Christine leave, did you happen to notice the driver?" He smirked ever so slightly, and I quickly caught on.

"You? You went with her?" He nodded, and his face then changed to bitterness.

"It was a trip wasted, I'm afraid." He turned away then, and shoved a candelabra into the lake. "Curse that insolent, arrogant, self-centered, incompetent Vicomte!" I was not un-used to such a harsh tone, with the stagehands the way they were. But to hear it coming from him, somehow that shocked me. I touched his shoulder again, but he did not acknowledge me. His head was down, and I could tell he was about to cry.

"What happened, Monsieur?" For the longest time he did not reply. Just when I thought he never would, he slowly turned to face me, tears streaming down his face and underneath his mask.

"He's gone. Her angel is gone. I ruined it, all because some young suitor came along and caused me to get careless." He then proceeded to tell me how he had taken Christine to the graveyard, as she had requested. He told me how she had gone to see her father, and how he had tried to comfort her. "I would have, too, if that blasted boy hadn't come running to rescue her." He laughed bitterly at that. "Rescue. From what? From comfort?" He collapsed into a chair and hunched over, and I wondered if he remembered that I was still there. "No one would listen…no one but her, heard as the outcast hears…" He sang this quietly, followed by a heavy sigh.

"I would listen, Monsieur…" I spoke quietly, and he whirled around.

"No…no you wouldn't! You can't! You don't know my loneliness…my pain! She knows…Christine understands!"

"But I do know, Monsieur! You don't think I'm lonely? And it's not just because of Christine's secret. Even before she came…I was surrounded by girls my age and yet I couldn't get close to any of them! They were always competing, and on top of that I was the ballet mistress's daughter! They were either fearful of me or they used me. And my mother…she was there, yes, but she was there for them too! So yes, I do understand…and I would listen if you'd at least let me try!" The tears were falling before I even knew they were there, and as my emotions were released, I collapsed onto the floor in front of him. I didn't look at him. I didn't dare to.

"Marguerite…I…I'm sorry you were overlooked. But you must realize that I…promised to leave you alone…and so I put you in the same box as all the others…"

"Promised who? My mother?" His sigh confirmed that my assumption was correct. "Please Monsieur…I must know what my mother has to do with all this…please…" That time, I did look up, and he sighed.

"I came here when I was a young boy. Your mother brought me here…She…found me when I was running from the traveling fair…she took care of me." There was pain in his face with every word he spoke.

"Why were you running?" Once again, my curiosity won over my sense of tact. He sighed again and pointed to his mask.

"Because of what this hides. I'm a monster…a freak. They called me…" He paused as a wave of tears washed over him. "They called me 'the Devil's Child'. I couldn't take it anymore…the laughs, the screams, the looks of disgust…and so I killed a man…in order to escape."

"Could I…do you mind if I see?"

"No! You mustn't! I could never do that to you! You'll just scream like everyone else!"

"Did my mother see?" My question seemed to surprise him, and it took him a while to answer.

"Yes…"

"Did she scream?"

"Well I…no…"

"Then maybe I won't scream." I smiled gently up at him, and he sighed. Slowly, he pulled away the carved white porcelain, closing his eyes and lowering his head. I stood and made my way over to him, touching the raw, scarred flesh.

"Please…say something…tell me I'm a monster…that I disgust you…but please, no silence…no more silence!"

"Well you're not a monster, Monsieur…and you don't disgust me. To be sure, it's something I've never seen before, but that doesn't mean you should be humiliated or beaten for it…"

"You're only saying that out of fear."

"If I was fearful, Monsieur, I would not have come."

"Why did you come? Why do you always insist on seeking me out?"

"Curiosity at first…after that, I guess I just enjoy talking to you…we don't know each other, and yet I can tell you everything and you'll listen to it all. I guess you could say I think of you as a friend."

"A…friend, Marguerite? You…you're mistaken. I'm a friend to no one, not even myself."

"How else would you describe it?"

"Look, Marguerite…whatever stories you may have heard…whatever fantasies you might have…I am not a man deserving of the title of friend…especially to one so innocent as yourself. I'm a murderer. No…no it's best if you just…left me alone."

"Is that what you truly want, Monsieur? To be alone?"

"It was always my destiny, Marguerite. Except for Christine…I was always meant to be alone."

"You cannot mean that…"I touched his shoulder again, but he shook my hand off.

"Please…just go…before your mother worries. Please." He looked up at me, tears still streaming down his beautifully imperfect face. He managed a small sad smile, however, and I slowly nodded.

"Very well. I will visit the rooftop often…"

"I'm sure you will. But do not expect me to be there."

"I know…" My own tears were threatening to fall as I turned away.

"And…Marguerite…"

"Yes?"

"You are welcome to my boat. I shall fetch it later."

"Thank you, Monsieur…good bye…" I stepped into the boat and pushed off, refusing to look back for fear of completely losing control.

A/N: More soon! Stay tuned! :)