A/N: You all have no idea how much I appreciate your reviews! As always, I own nothing but Phantomess!

Another few months passed, and before she knew it, she'd been there four years. She was not sure if she should say anything to him about it or not. The removal of the drawings had had the effect she'd hoped for; he was much closer to letting go of Christine. However, it seemed that the closer he got, the emptier he seemed. Today, as she delivered his lunch, she found him in the same position she often found him now—sitting at the organ, staring blankly at the pipes, his hands on his lap. Silently, she went to set the plate down on his work table. "Bring it here." Turning around, she saw that he had still not moved. Almost, she asked how he'd known. Almost. But remembering who he was, she pushed the question aside and approached the organ. The page in front of him was blank…as blank as his face. She set the plate down next to the keys, and only then did he look her way. "What's on your mind?"

"Monsieur?"

"You're thinking about something. What is it?"

"It…it's nothing much…"

"Tell me anyway." It was an order, but in his eyes, she saw a pleading…a hunger…a searching for something to grasp onto.

"I've been here four years today."

"And how do you plan on marking the occasion?"

"I hadn't thought of that…in the past, I've just….told Carmilla…and…baked something sweet…" She glanced down for a bit before looking back up at him. "The day I fell…the day I came here…was my birthday. That's how I remember…today I'm twenty-two years old."

"I…I see…" his head went down, and she inwardly kicked herself, knowing that she had just made mention something he had missed out on all his life. But before she could apologize, he continued in a voice that seemed quite distant. "Tell me something, Phantomess. What causes you to celebrate each year you're alive? What is it that you enjoy seeing or experiencing so much that it…keeps you going? What is it you do that causes you to want to do it for yet another year? What is your purpose…your dream…your life?"

"It's many things, Monsieur…but it's changed only slightly since before I left home. Helping my family and serving others…it…made me feel useful…that I mattered. Now, it's helping you. I celebrate each year of my life because it means God isn't done with me yet. He still has plans for me…we only have a short time here. One life, and then it's over…"

"When it's no longer helping me, Phantomess, then what? Are you to return home and leave me?"

"I honestly don't know…"

"Does it scare you…the unknown?"

"Only a little. No, I don't know what He has for me next…but I know that whatever it is, good will come from it."

"She was mine, Phantomess. She was it…my purpose…my life. Now, there's nothing left. There is no more music…there's nothing. We are in this chapter of our lives together…how is it that even though we're sitting here looking at the same blank page, you are able to see a glimmer of something, and I see…nothingness?"

"I'm not sure exactly…I try to see things through God's eyes…"

"Then how can you look upon this…creature that I am with…with such tenderness?"

"That's how God sees you. It says in the Bible that His precious thoughts toward each and every one of us outnumber the grains of sand."

"How can he case me to be born like this…to cause me to go through my life tortured and abandoned…and still dare to claim that He…loves me?"

"He loves you because He created you…just as you loved those drawings and her voice because you shaped them…put some of yourself into each one. That's why I could never ask you to destroy them. In a way, the drawings are like your children, and while some might not fully understand them, you do…you know the reason for every line, dot, and mark in that drawing."

"Why, then, did He not protect me as I protect my drawings? Why allow the torture?" His tone now was angry and bitter, but his eyes were even more searchful.

"You cannot fully blame God for the tortures and sufferings you have gone through. Do not mistake the sinful actions of man for the actions of God. He never gives us more than we can handle. You're living proof of that, because you are alive. If He wanted you dead, you'd not be here now. Trials and sufferings are a part of life, as much a part of it as the good things. They are there to make us stronger…to grow…to be able to comfort others going through the same things. Perhaps you were made lonely so that you could comfort Christine…perhaps…you went through all you did so that you would turn to God…let Him be your hope…your comfort…your happiness…"

"Perhaps." The single word was full of deep thought—like he did not fully reject nor accept her words just yet. He turned back to face the blank paper in front of her. "I still don't have any music to put on this page, however."

"I'm sure you will think of something, Monsieur. Don't give up." With an encouraging smile and shoulder squeeze, she rose to her feet and returned to her lair. She had baking to do.

That evening, the Phantom experienced his first taste of chocolate cake. Phantomess insisted that they would share their birthday, and so she also presented him with a pillow and scarf she'd made. He stared at the gifts blankly…stunned. "I…don't have anything for you, Mademoiselle…" he managed.

"That's quite alright, Monsieur…I have everything I need…" For a moment, after she said this, however, her hand went to the cameo necklace.

"Wait here." He rose to his feet and disappeared into his bedchamber. Upon his return , he had something hidden in his hand. "Hold out your arm, and close your eyes." When she did, she felt something wrap around her wrist. "You may look." Her eyes opened, and she gasped. Upon her wrist was a small charm bracelet. The chain was black, resembling twisting vines, and the charms were tiny ruby roses.

"Monsieur…it…it's gorgeous!" She looked up at him, and a smile slowly spread across his face. "I…couldn't possibly…"

"You deserve it, Phantomess. I might not fully be happy about my existence, but…I am thankful…that you are here to help me…" Swallowing the lump in her throat, she hugged him tightly, a few tears starting to fall.

"Thank you, Monsieur…I'll cherish this forever…"

"I'm sure you will." He slowly hugged her back.

About a week later, Phantomess was fixing a simple lunch when she heard a meowing from above. Puzzled, she slowly followed the sound up the stairs. Upon opening the door, a calico blur rushed past her onto the stairs. "Carmilla?" The cat merely looked up at her innocently, and she smiled. "I guess I need to be more careful when I run my errands, hmm? Silly cat…" Giggling, she picked up the feline and carried her downstairs.

As time passed, Phantomess found herself worrying about Carmilla more and more. Her furry friend had grown heavier, and she began acting very strangely. One day, she disappeared altogether, and as the week passed, there was still no sign of her. Finally, she decided to let the Phantom know—perhaps he could help. And so, that afternoon, she visited him between meals—something she never did unless he was crying. He looked at her, somewhat surprised and confused. "Monsieur…"

"What's wrong?" He made his way over to her.

"It's Carmilla…I haven't seen her in a week…"

"I see…I'm sure she will turn up…these caverns are vast in number. Perhaps she is exploring…"

"I doubt it, Monsieur…she…she seems to have grown ill…" As the Phantom watched her tears appear, he knew that Carmilla was more than just a cat to her. He recalled the circus monkey that had grown attached to him at the fair, and how devastated he had been when he got sold elsewhere. With a sigh, he gently touched her shoulder and brushed at her tears.

"I'll help you look."

"Thank you…" His response was a silent, understanding nod, and the two began their search.

Hours later, they returned to his lair, Phantomess more discouraged than ever. The Phantom gently sat her down on his bed, brushing at her tears some more. Just as he was about to suggest she get some rest, they both heard soft meowing coming from the other side of the bed. Peering over the edge, they found Carmilla sleeping comfortably on her side on top of several scattered music sheets and a pile of clothes. But what really drew their attention were the five tiny balls of fur, fighting each other for a drink of milk. As soon as they realized what had happened, they both fell onto the bed, laughing almost hysterically.

Moments later, Phantomess sat up, wiping at her tears. "I…I guess even Carmilla needed to find her own 'something more'…"

"I suppose so, Phantomess…and now she's found it. Have you found yours?" He looked at her, his eyes still laughing, but the question was there, in all seriousness.

"I believe I have…" She looked into his eyes as she spoke, and he smiled a bit longer before turning back to the kittens. One, he noticed, looked smaller than the rest, and it kept having to fight for a drink. Only when its brothers and sisters began nodding off did it get its fair share. The Phantom made a mental note to keep an eye on that little one, although he had absolutely no idea why he cared so much.

Two months later, it was the Phantom's turn to worry. Phantomess hadn't delivered his breakfast. At first, he shrugged it off as a mere shortage of food, but when she didn't appear for lunch or supper, not even to explain, he slowly made his way back to her lair. There were no smells in the kitchen, not even a fire. He carefully entered her bedchamber, where he found her shaking and shining with sweat. "Phantomess?" he knelt down and felt her forehead, and he immediately drew his hand back from the heat. Her blankets were tossed aside, but her thick black dress was making that attempt to cool off useless.

He found a scrap of cloth and took it to the stream, letting it soak in more than enough of the cold water before bringing it back and placing it on her forehead. The mask, however, was not helping. But he refused to just take it off of her. "Phantomess…can you hear me?"

"M—monsieur…"

"I need to take off your mask…is that alright?" Slowly, weakly, she nodded.

"It's…burning my face…" The Phantom gently lifted the mask off of her, not sure what to expect. He was definitely not expecting to see what he did find. Her face was perfectly smooth and symmetrical, aside from a slight indentation outlining the shape of the mask. He softly traced the right side of her face with his hand before rubbing the cold cloth across it. She had said she'd had her reasons for the mask. But what were they? There wasn't a single blemish or scar…nothing that would cause her to be shamed into hiding it. But he couldn't be angry with her. Not now. He kept moving the cloth around on her face and neck, refusing to think about anything except making her better.

Over the next two days, her temperature slowly went down. However, she was still very weak, often clutching her stomach and sides in pain. He'd moved her to his own bed the first night, but it seemed the only good that did was make it easier for him to be by her side. He only left to fix her soups and teas, but they provided only temporary help. "Is this how you're to leave me, little Phantomess? Are you to die and leave me alone?" he whispered to her one night as she slept. "I'm not ready for that…"

The next morning, she slowly removed her cameo necklace and placed it in his hand. "It's a locket…open it…" As he did, he saw a tiny scrap of paper, upon which was written, "DuMont. Village of D'Lacy, France." He looked at her, and she smiled ever so slightly. "Remember how I said…that helps me remember?"

"Yes…I recall that…"

"I…I think it's time…for me to go back…" Seeing him start to panic and about to protest, she continued, "I…want you…to take me there…" Slowly, he relaxed.

"Of course. I'll arrange for a carriage immediately." At this, she smiled more before drifting off to sleep.

A/N: I have no idea if the Village of D'Lacy actually exists/existed. This was me being too lazy to look up an 1870 map of France. LOL Feedback is, as always, more than welcome! Stay tuned!