The elevator was like the rest of the building, a luxury. It had mirrors all around gilded in gold patterns and the floor was polished brass. A stout dwarf woman who on a stool commanded the elevator, simply watching to see which elevator went where, and went to that floor and took them to the requested floor. However she ignored all those calls and went straight up to the penthouse on the 50th floor ("Though technically there are 52 floors." Said the dwarf).

As the elevator began to make its' ascent Sorelli's head began to feel light as a feather, her chest tightened, allowing only a mouthful's worth of air to go in and out at a time. She gripped her carpet bag tightly, trying to relieve pressure in her body, but it didn't work. Raoul noticed this and gently rested his hand on her shoulder.

"It will be fine, dear." He spoke softly.

Sorelli nodded but was unable to speak for fear of losing her breath.

With a stop and a ding, they arrived at the top floor. The brass doors opened to reveal a lavishly decorated sitting room with mahogany floors with matching furniture, paneled walls with lace swinging to connect to the next, embroidered purple rugs, velvet purple couches, and gothic black lamp fixtures with white and stained purple glass shades. Also in the room were stairs that stopped at a large door with golden stained glass. The east windows opened to reveal a view of the city and Phantasma in the distance.

Sorelli, Meg and Raoul stepped out with their belongings before the dwarf descended the elevator.

"Erik?" Meg called out walking forward. "We're home, are you still in the office?"

"Yes." A smooth voice that seemed to come from nowhere in particular replied.

Sorelli swallowed hard and clung to her bag.

"Come in." He remarked as a section of a panel slid open.

Meg walked forward, not looking scared or phased at all. Sorelli however, silently urged Raoul to walk in first. He nodded, taking her hand and walked forward first. It looked just like the outside, with the addition of a crammed bookcase, but it had no windows and was dimly lit by oil lamps. A tall shadowed figure sat turned away at a desk. Meg sighed audibly before walking to the bookcase and pulling a small one. With a loud grinding noise, light fixtures descended from the ceiling and turned on, brightening the room completely.

"You are not having a finance meeting, you are meeting your child." Meg chastised firmly.

Raoul placed his hand on her shoulder, which Sorelli responded by gripping it tightly.

"Forgive me, I was deep in thought." He stood, revealing his true, statuesque height. His black hair shined, but was disturbed by an indent, no doubt the strap from his mask. He turned quickly to face Sorelli.

He was exactly as her mother described him, but no less frightful for her. Soon the storm of emotions began to thunder; of fear, of confusion, perhaps even hatred. She had lost her words once more.

But Erik felt differently. He looked upon this girl; his child. She looked like Christine, yes, her ears, lips, chin and brown eyes were that of her mother's. But her head shape, hands, nose and pale skin tone was that of her father's.

He bit his lip and approached her, his body shaking terribly. He felt a tempest of emotions he couldn't possibly name rage within him. With one long pale hand, he reached out to stoke her cheek. She pulled away quickly with a slight whimper.

"Sorelli… Forgive me…" he breathed deeply in an attempt to calm himself. "My name is Erik… I'm your father."

Sorelli turned away from him, tightening her fists on her skirt. "I… I know…"

Erik looked down, a sort of heavy hollowness forming in his chest. "I know you're afraid… Perhaps even hate me… But, I promise…" He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "I will take care of you…"

Sorelli's eyes turned to him, followed by her head. Her gaze met his and she reached out. Lightly grasping the side of his mask, she gently pulled it off his face. There was the face. The distorted broken mess of what was somehow human. The face that instilled terror on hundreds and spread horror to thousands. The face her mother kissed and loved in a part of her heart.

"… I know you will… Thank you, father…" Sorelli managed a small smile before gently brushing her fingers against his hollow cheek.

He smiled back at her, lessening the impact of his horrid face. He cupped her hand and held it tightly. "Now… We have many things to discuss."

"Wait, before we do…" Sorelli reached into her carpet bag and pulled out a piece of paper. "This… This is for you."

When Erik took the paper, he realized it was a worn envelop, torn here and there with a red wax seal that was scratched. On the back, in shaky cursive, was only one name:

Erik

"A letter… From mother… She knew it would come to this."

Erik felt his hand grow weak as he held it. He opened it at a painstaking pace with the gentleness of a father tending his newborn, obviously not wanting to damage it in some way. When he finally opened it, he slid out the crumpled piece of tan paper folded hastily in three before opening it.

Erik,

If you're reading this, then I have perished and Sorelli is to be with you.

I will not lie, I still do regret what happened that night, beneath a moonless sky. But I shall never regret nor hate the fact Sorelli is yours. She is a musician like you, with a voice like mine. She may be quiet and withdrawn at times, but she has a passion within her about music. She is the light of my world, I love her so much.

However, before you take fully charge of her. You should know one thing; She may know you were my angel of music, that you kidnapped me and tried to kill Raoul, but she doesn't know you were a killer. Raoul is also aware of this, he shall not tell either. Unless you have utter confidence in her, I beg you not to tell. I do not want her to despise you for it… Nor I or Raoul from keeping it from her.

We chose not to tell her because we didn't want her to hate you, nor did we want to scare her. But I have confidence you have changed.

One thing we both know Erik, is that, no matter how much time has passed or how much we have moved on, part of our souls will always love one another. I am pleading you, since Raoul cannot take care of Sorelli anymore, with that piece of love you have for me, take care of her and love her, that's all I ask of you.

Love, Christine

As Erik gazed down at the last line he saw too dark circles begin to grow on the paper, followed by another. He felt the tears begin to fall from his eyes as he set the paper down and wiped his tears. Sorelli took his hand and gently tightened her fingers around it.

"It's ok…" she smiled sweetly.