Author's Note: Thank you all for such wonderful reviews

Author's Note: Thank you all for such wonderful reviews. Now that Joseph's dead and out of the way, I'll try to focus more on Erik and Maggie.

Maggie

Sometime later…

I don't know how I came to be here, back in our small accommodation. I suppose whilst I was in shock, a few stagehands brought me back, thrust a blanket over my shoulders, a warm mug of—something—in my hands, and left me to my grief.

He was dead. My older brother was dead and I was now alone in the world. The police were convinced it was suicide, but I knew better. They just didn't care. Why should they waste their time on a low-class stagehand? Joseph wouldn't kill himself. At one time, in the past, perhaps he had contemplated it. But that was then, he wouldn't now. Not while I was here.

What would I do now, go home? No I couldn't go home. I couldn't bear to face my mother and father and tell them they'd lost another child. The thought of traveling didn't appeal to me anymore. Why should it? The only reason I ever did was because of him. Life had lost all meaning in my eyes. So, it stopped, then and there. I passed through ephemeral phases of denial and anger.

Jacques came back and without a word, made himself comfortable in Joseph's sleeping arrangements on the floor. It was unexpected but my face didn't betray any emotion. It was a long, sleepless night with one or two outbursts of tears. If Jacques saw or heard me, he didn't say anything. He stayed by my side the entire night. I was grateful and silently welcomed him.

Erik

It was not my fault…not really.

Oh, how a part of me wished to stay and watch the public reaction once news of Joseph Buquet's death spread. But nothing in the world would have me miss Christine's debut performance, which had proved to be a great triumph…hers and mine. I did pass back that way en route to one of my many secret passages, this one in particular, connected to Christine's dressing room. By then, the corpse of the chief scene-shifter was being carried away on a stretcher, a procession of police following after. Good riddance.

As I continued on my mission, my sharp eye caught sight of a familiar figure being half led, half carried away through the throng of curious onlookers. My mind registered this figure to be that of the younger brother, and I felt a vague, obscure sense of pity as my thoughts flashed back to my previous actions of that evening, including a certain promise I had made, though God only knows why I did.

When I arrived to my usual place behind Christine's dressing room mirror, I saw that she was not alone. I had expected this since she fainted onstage, after finishing the aria. That dear child…She gave everything she had in her that night, and I would make certain her efforts did not go unrewarded. However, in my opinion, there appeared to be more than fair share of men in her company. I quickly identified the middle-aged man examining Christine to be the doctor. The other, younger man, I did not recognize, nor did I care to.

My poor beautiful Christine. She looked so pale and exhausted. She had a slight smile on her face from laughing at some ridiculous proclamation the young man had made. After a few exchanged words between them, I learned that the pair had once been childhood companions. This was not welcome news to my ears. Suddenly, Christine perked up with a newfound energy and seemed more alert to her surroundings. I knew she sensed I was nearby.

"I am not ill, now!" she said.

The doctor, maid, and young man (whom I found out to be the Vicomte de Chagny), were abruptly dismissed, for Christine wished to be alone. I could faintly catch the doctor's last words as they left the room.

"She is not herself, tonight. Usually she is so gentle…"

Once she was alone, she openly acknowledged my presence. I praised her on her singing and asked if she was very tired. Heaving an exhausted sigh, she smiled slightly, eyes glowing.

"Tonight, I gave you my soul and I am dead."

Those words touched me beyond all measure. "Your soul is a beautiful thing, child. No emperor ever received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight."

And it was true. No one in the world could be so lucky; so blessed. No one in the world had what I had. No one. She was mine, and mine alone. I had discovered Christine only a few short months ago in the chorus. It was a serendipitous moment when I happened to hear her voice. It was very unmistakably untrained and lacked passion, but it was beautiful all the same; the tone, clarity…everything else could be improved if someone took the time and patience to tutor her. However, I knew full well how complex it could be to find a well-qualified teacher these days, especially one willing to work with low-wage chorus members.

Why not I? I knew everything there was to know about music. It was my life, the very core of my existence. I wouldn't take any money…not from her. She looked so sweet yet so sad at the same time. It seemed strange I had never given her much notice before. Now…how to go about this? If she saw me, she might immediately recognize me from Buquet's descriptions as the Opera Ghost and any hope of teaching her would be wasted. Unless there was a way I could always remain out of sight…but how strange would that seem? It would never work. My answer came only a short while later on one not-so-particular day when she came bursting into the ballet dormitories, speaking aloud to her deceased father, crying and imploring as to why he had not sent her the "Angel of Music" as promised after his death. She went on about how hard she tried to make it at the Opera, but wasn't getting anywhere.

"I'm afraid if I don't improve soon, I'll be dropped from the chorus altogether and spend the rest of my life as just another average dancer in the background," she had said.

An Angel of Music…for once, Fate was merciful, fate was kind. If this child truly believed in such entities, then perhaps this was my ticket in; the key to gain access into Christine Daae's life and hopefully change it for the better. By the time I was done, she would have the greatest and most sought after voice in all of France if not the world. She could have any role in any opera she wanted, and it would be because I made it so.

In the beginning, I didn't want to hurt her, but I was aware of the fact that I would have to continuously lie to her about my identity; indulge her whimsical fantasies about angels, heaven, and any other fairytale life forms. But I hadn't intended to ever reveal my true nature. I hadn't counted on ever letting her see or know me for who or what I was. I hadn't counted on even caring. Least of all, I hadn't counted on falling in love with her.