A/N: On to chapter 1 but first of all a great big thank you to Phanma for taking the time to review and to Anime-Freak for following it. I am glad this isn't going entirely unnoticed. I am already several chapters into this story but will only publish the next chapter once I have finished writing a new one, that way the updates should flow relatively regularly and I still have a buffer in case of emergency (extreme writer's block or, you know, Uni coursework ;)) Bear with me for now, I am still trying to tie up the story we all know but the next chapter will get us started on Erik's new life.
I'd really love some feedback...good or bad as long as it's constructive! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Nadir, 1882

Erik has left today and suddenly my little flat is filled with odd instruments and extraordinary memorabilia that have survived his terrible anger and that, in the end, he couldn't bear to part with. In addition, he has left me with an unwanted house guest. His blasted cat has taken refuge on my windowsill for now but at least she has stopped her incessant hissing and the marking of her new territory. I have never been overly fond of these egoistic felines and the diamond collar around this one's neck still fills me with deep unease. But the memory of Erik's struggle and the pain he felt at leaving her behind is enough to make me treat her with the highest courtesy. Perhaps, in time, we shall come to value each other's company.

With Erik gone, I suddenly find myself without a purpose and so in my thoughts I am accompanying him on this final journey. He does not expect to return and I fully understand that there's nothing holding him here anymore. And although I am pleased that he has conjured up some shreds of energy, I worry for his health and safety during this strenuous journey. He hasn't given himself much time to recover, something I fear is motivated by his desperate need to escape another confrontation with Christine Daaé. His last attack was quite severe and I am concerned how he will cope if he has another while out on the road.

I've watched him as he planned this journey, pouring over maps of France, Switzerland and Italy. I know that his route will take him past cities that have blossomed into metropolises and across the snow-covered Alps. Throughout all of this he'll be out in the elements and solely restricted to his horse. He assured me that he would seek shelter if necessary but I am also aware that his curious appearance will limit his options to shadier accommodations. I hope in his desire to flee, he does not underestimate the traces age and heartache have left.

Nearly two weeks have passed since Erik's departure and in another bizarre twist of irony his first letter just reached me as I was on my way to his house beneath the opera to await the arrival of Christine. I am relieved to hear he's well and found himself lodgings just south of Dijon. His horse is healthy and the weather is living up to his expectations, making travel easy enough. He encloses hardly any other information about himself but focuses instead on detailed descriptions of his travel. He has always been a good story teller when he wanted to be and I am very much excited by this correspondence. He describes the beauty of nature with vigour but complains with just as much passion about the railroads and their noisy children, billowing black clouds into the sky and tainting the serenity around them. Nonetheless, he can't entirely hide the fascination he possesses for the workings of these machines, mentioning once or twice some sketches he has been making along the way. He paints such a vivid picture, that it takes me a moment to realise my actual surroundings.

As I am sitting here, listening for the sounds that'll indicate Christine's arrival, I wonder if he's aware of today's date. I am almost certain of it, as a matter of fact, because for as long as I've known him his mind has been excellent at retaining dates and events laced with negativity and pain. He might have temporarily convinced himself that she would not return but I am just as certain that a spark of curiosity lingers in him. And should he ever require an answer, I will be prepared to supply him with it. Just as I want to be able to welcome Miss Daaé's questions once she arrives. Fate has brought us together as the marionettes in the same little play and so I feel bound by loyalty to be of help until each of us is able to cut these strings.

Without Erik, the house feels eerily quiet as if a ghost, indeed, still haunts these premises. The darkness unsettles me and was it not for my watch, I'd have lost all concept of time. So it is with great relief that I finally perceive the faint echo of footsteps.

Pocketing Erik's letter and arranging my attire, I rise to my feet to greet her. The fear in her eyes instantly makes me regret the apologetic facial expression I have chosen to adopt.

"Am I too late? Is he…?" she asks, the unfinished question hanging between us.

"No, he is well." I hurry to assure her and the relief overwhelms her so strongly that I have to guide her to a chair.

The implications of her reaction make me glad that Erik has chosen to leave. He would not have survived another moment tied to her in uncertainty.

"But he isn't here." She states, sounding like a lost child while her eyes sweep over the room that has been utterly destroyed.

"No, he is not." I confirm. "But he would appreciate knowing you returned to give him your invitation."

My gaze falls onto the crisp, white envelope in her hands and her fingers momentarily constrict around it.

"I gave my word," she answers feebly, staring emptily ahead of her, "and he said he would be here."

I allow her to sit with her thoughts for a while until she fixes me with a look that begs for answers.

"He felt he had to leave, Mademoiselle. He has made peace with his life but yearns for one more voyage."

"But he is dying?"

The perfect clarity of her voice trembles and I can see the threads of sanity unravel in front of my eyes.

"So will we all in time, Mademoiselle. But know that you have made him very happy. He wishes nothing but the best for you and your young man on your wedding day."

"Raoul…"

She speaks his name with such regret that it tugs at my heartstrings, for somehow I know that she speaks of Erik much the same.

"He will support you and I hope in time we will all find our peace."

Her wretchedness breaks free then in desperate sobs that smudge the ink on the envelope. I hold her and comfort her as best I can, wondering if perhaps it is for the best not to divulge every detail of this encounter to Erik.