A/N: Hello! Okay, first things first, I'd like to clear something up for this story that i apologise for not making it clear enough the first time around: ERIK IS NOT HER DAD. I didn't realise until after i posted the last chapter and after the few reviews i got mentioning it that i had made Charlotte's dad really similar to Leroux Erik which i really did not mean to do. So, this is just me saying that Erik is in no way Charlotte's father, this is just some other scrawny bony guy i promise you (though that probably would have made an interesting story). A wee spoiler alert (not really) this is meant to be a romance story, so i think i would be a really messed up person if Erik was her father. okay okay, just wanted to clear that up, carry on!

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The opera house was rather peaceful for a Saturday evening. The reason for this could have been because all the performers were doing their jobs on stage, and the audience members were quietly seated on their velvet chairs, being pleasantly distracted by the act in front of them. I had managed to sneak through that same door that I had before. They really should lock that door, though.

I already knew that the mirror was sealed shut, so I didn't bother going back there. I decided to explore for a bit, perhaps in search of another entrance to that strange man's home. So far, I had found ballrooms ten times the size of the home I used to live in. I found the dormitories for the performers, a studio, and, you guessed it: more ballrooms. And yet, I had found no entrance. The place was so large; it was hard to wrap my mind around the concept of it.

I decided to take a left turn down a slightly darker hallway, finding the shadows to be an easier disguise for myself, as it was quite obvious I was not supposed to be in the building. It stretched on for quite a bit, with doors scattered evenly across each wall, keeping a large distance between each one. It was a rather plain hallway, though something did catch my attention. On the right wall, an intricate yet narrow bookcase was placed directly in the middle of two doors. That was strange, as there seemed to be nothing else in the hallway except for doors.

Excitement bubbled in my chest, sending me practically skipping towards the mahogany structure. This was too easy.

Coming face to face with the bookcase, I examined each shelf, finding them to be composed of four differently sized books, arranged in a pattern. I looked down on each shelf and- there. I thought to myself. There was a break in the pattern that sent me leaning down to come nose to nose with the book. This was just like the mystery books that I've read; how had no one else noticed?

I grabbed the dusty spine with two fingers, and pulled it towards me, first hearing a click, and then a light thud. I smiled and took a step back, examining my work. The bookshelf had popped out by a few inches, allowing my to slip my fingers between the wall and the shelf, and pull it open like a door. And, as I had expected, I was met with another dark and damp tunnel. I had to stifle my light giggle before I stepped inside.

Although I thought I was lost multiple times, I eventually found that warm light at the end of the tunnel, this time coming from a different angle of the strange man's home. I was directly across from where I first entered, seeing the sight from a whole new perspective. And, there he was.

From this side, I could only see his stark white mask that lay on the side of his face. He seemed to be composing again. I stepped out from the tunnel, and into his home, and waited a few moments, before clearing my throat.

The man stood up and spun around before I could blink my eyes.

"You again." He hissed at me.

"Hello!" I said cheerily in a poor attempt at calming him down.

"Why are you here?" He said, as if he was trying to suppress a loud shout. Before I could even answer, he began to speak again. "Leave!" There was that loud roar I was expecting. "You are very lucky you made it out of here alive the first time, don't think that you'll be able to do it again," He sneered as he began to take steps forwards.

"Hey, I only have a few questions. Please," I said, letting go of the strap of my bag, and holding my hands up in the air in surrender, "And plus," I added, "I have friends that know I'm down here, and that would not hesitate summoning the police if I suddenly go missing." I warned. I mean, there was only Destin, but I knew he would do the same. Besides, I think I knew he knew I was here again. He had asked me to join him for lunch that day, but I told him I had "business to attend to," which he just giggled at.

"Was that a threat?" The masked man laughed.

"Maybe." I replied, crossing my arms across my chest. Now, the man was only a few feet away from me. He was so close; I could see all the details that I had missed in my drawing.

"Really, all I want to do is ask you a few questions. I won't tell anyone else about this, I promise," I pleaded.

He squinted at me, perhaps weighing his options. From what it looked like, this man was definitely not supposed to be down here, and he would be in copious amounts of trouble if anyone found out. If all he had to do was answer a few questions to make me shut up, then why not cooperate?

"One question," He said, as if that phrase in itself was a threat.

"Oh come on, I deserve ten," I countered.

"Three."

"Eight."

"Four."

"Six."

"Five."

"Fine," I sighed. With the confidence building in me, I pushed passed him, and took a seat on one of two chairs placed at a cluttered table.

He let out a breath as if he was in shock of my behavior, and it looked like he was still considering killing me. But, he took the other seat that was placed on the opposite side of the table and crossed his arms defensively and threateningly.

I pushed some of the music compositions and books that were in front of me to give me a few inches of space. I dug into my bag, and pulled out my sketchbook, feeling the man's eyes burn into my head every second. After opening up to a blank page, and feeling the piece of charcoal for a sharper end, I looked up to him and smiled.

"Question number one: what's your name?" I turned down to look at the blank page while I waited for an answer, and began making another drawing of him.

"I can't tell you that," He grumbled.

I let out a light laugh before tearing my eyes from the page to look at him.

"Oh, come on. You can at least tell me your first name. I believe I already introduced myself: I'm Charlotte."

He stared at me for another moment, thinking through his words. This man does too much planning.

"Erik," he said through his teeth.

"Pleasure to meet you, Erik." I smiled before leaning over the short table with my hand outstretched, ready to shake his. He only stared at it before letting out a short chuckle, and turning away.

I sighed, and retreated back to my chair and my sketchbook.

"Question two," I began, shading his eyes.

"What are you doing?" He asked, trying to lean over the table to look at what was on my sketchbook.

"Oh, are you playing too?" I asked teasingly, "I'm drawing," I replied.

"What are you drawing?" He asked.

"Whoa there, you're really burning through your five questions, aren't you?" I smiled and paused for a moment before responding, "You."

He looked shocked for a moment, and then confused as he let his brow push down to create more shadows under his eyes. It was an interesting pose. Not interesting as in strange, but interesting as in mysterious and full of expression. I turned to the page next to my original drawing and began a second one right away, wanting to capture this expression.

"Why?" He asked. He seemed to be getting more and more shy with his questions, like he was afraid of showing too much interest with his curiosity.

"Because I think you're interesting," I replied simply as I continued to look down at my page. I felt his gaze on me for a while longer after I responded, and I wondered why he was watching me. I looked up at him to meet his eye.

"Why are you staring at me?" I squinted.

"Because I think you're interesting," he smirked. There he is. I thought to myself as I let the satisfaction of breaking the ice with Erik wash over me.

"You know," I began, looking down again to watch my shading, "you're not as hard to talk to as I thought it was going to be."

He paused for another moment, making that interesting face again, before continuing to speak. "Next question. I believe you're on number three."

"Hey, no I'm not! If I'm on number three, then you're on number four," I pointed out.

"Fine, question number two," he replied. Whoa, so he wants to ask me questions. Maybe he just wants to agree with everything I say to make me leave faster.

"Why do you live down here?"

"To avoid the hatred of the human race," he responded after a moment.

"Well, that was intense," I muttered in response, looking up to meet his eyes. "Why do you believe the human race is full of hatred?"

"Why do you think I wear a mask?" he replied.

"Well, that brings me to my third question…" I trailed off, letting him reply.

"My answer for your third question is the exact same as my answer to your second question," he said almost sadly. Now, it was my turn to make that interesting expression. What could have been so bad that he believed he needed to cover it up with a mask, and to hide in a cave stories beneath Paris?

"May I see your full face?" I asked.

"Ah, you see, you just wasted your fourth question, dear Charlotte, as that is something I cannot ever show you." He averted his eyes to the compositions that lay on the table.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Do you really want to waste your last question on that?"

"Well, my guess is you're going to say 'it's because of the hatred of humanity,' or something of the sorts, but there must be more than that," I insisted.

"How do you know?" He questioned.

"Well something must have happened to make you think this way, right? So, what happened? Why can't I see your face?"

There was a long pause of silence, only the sound of light waves gently rocking the boat, and caressing the small shore.

"That is a long story, perhaps for another time," He said, standing up, and straightening his jacket.

"So I'll see you again?" I asked excitedly.

"Perhaps," he smirked.

A/N: Heyy! we get some conversation between Erik and Charlotte! So, what did you guys think of this chapter? i know it's pretty unrealistic of Erik not to kill her, and that's why i tried to show some reasoning behind it, but hey it works with the plot so just roll with it;) Anyways, i'm pretty excited to write more chapters with these two, and to get more into the plot! I hope you guys enjoyed, and PLEASE let me know what you guys thought in the reviews! I really do love hearing from you guys and any feedback helps (just please be nice3)!

Thanks again for reading! Don't forget to favourite follow and review!