Author's Note: So I know that I still have one more story going on but this idea just sounded way too good in my head. Just a heads up that this is a different kind of beast from my other ongoing Phanfic but I hope you guys still enjoy this one as much as you did my other story, maybe even more. I know I'm going to have a lot of fun writing this so I hope you do too when reading!

On another note, I don't really appreciate dumps of info near the start of a story, so don't expect a lot of exposition since I won't be revealing the reasons behind things right off the bat. This fic's for those who prefer a slow burn story, much like myself.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using characters and settings from the book by Gaston Leroux, the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber, and the movie by Joel Schumacher. I do not claim any ownership over the characters and settings created and owned by them. The same goes for any lyrics and snippets of literature that I will be using ― they all belong to their respective writers. I only own the original characters of my own invention and most of the plot. And I say most of the plot because this work was dominantly inspired by/based on/borrowed from Guardian: The Lonely And Great God by Studio Dragon.

Here is a small fact:
You are going to die.

― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

Vapors of frosted breath escaped his parted lips as he heaved a silent sigh. It was evidence of just how cold it was at that very moment, every inch of the ground blanketed by the white harshness of winter. The frost was soft under his boots, stark white against his black ensemble and contrasting the sky above him. He glanced up and saw the heavens watching him from above, a dark canvas dotted with the stars in their multitudes. On any other night, he would've gladly spent the hours just standing under the ink-like darkness that permeated the skies, relishing his place in the night where he belonged. But tonight's agenda would not allow him that pleasure. Tonight, he would have to do his job.

The cards felt heavy in his pocket, weighing his heart down as he stared at the scene before him. Even after more than a century of walking the earth, it seemed that he just couldn't prove himself to be as cold-hearted as he liked to think himself to be. No, there was always that small vine of compassion that refused to unlatch from his heart, its thorns pricking him during times like this.

The blanket of snow before him was stained by the crimson of blood, a horrifying amount of it seeping away from the woman on the ground. She clung weakly to life, barely holding on while death stood before her. The pale skin of her cheeks were streaked with tears, quiet sobs escaping her throat as she lied limp against the snow. Her hair, a golden shade, was streaked with the red of her own blood. One hand was sprawled on her side while the other sat atop her stomach.

If not for the second card that hid behind the pocket of his coat, he wouldn't know that the woman was with child. Almost imperceptible was the swell of the woman's stomach, a bump of four months hidden beneath her navy winter coat. He felt it there, the unmistakable throb of life slowly ebbing away with each passing second. It was such a waste, to see life fade away before it could even begin. But who was he to question the schemes of death? He was only a mere servant, a herald.

The woman's green eyes were glazed over, a glassy look that was near the point of cracking with the desperation that swam in her gaze. Unless he wanted and willed it, the woman was unable to see him, even if he stood a mere two feet away from her bleeding and broken physique.

"H-help . . . please, my-my child-" her voice cracked, the sound of it twisting the knife that was already buried in his chest.

A cool breeze blew in his direction, biting his skin with the cold of winter. But the chills that rode down his spine came from the words that left the woman's lips. Even he couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the ending of this woman's story and that of her child's, a tragic end that he was almost sure they didn't deserve. All because of the careless error of a cab driver in the dead of the night.

He felt his jaw clench, his pulse escalate. The reckless ways of the human race truly knew no bounds, and this was not the first time that he had a front row ticket in witnessing the spectacle that was the folly of humans.

He had been human too, once. But now he wasn't, and he had a job to finish.

One gloved hand reached into the pocket of his coat where he grasped the two envelopes sitting there. They were white and free of any creases, much like the envelopes that he used during his days as a ghost. He opened both and fished out the black cards that each one held. The cards were not made of any ordinary paper but of card stock, colored black with the names they contained embossed in gold, print letters. The names of the the woman and her unborn child before him.

He sucked in a steadying breath, studying the first card. Written on it was the woman's name while the second one had her child's. Or, more specifically, her daughter.

The vine tightened its hold around his heart once more as he tore his gaze away from the cards and towards the dying woman, her eyes raised to the skies as a feeble whisper left her lips. But he heard her words with perfect clarity, and they were sharp enough to cut through him.

"Please, n-not like this . . . my baby . . ."

To hear dying wishes were not uncommon. In fact, such words had become all too familiar to him at that point. A human's last words wasted as a plead to live another day, a beg for another chance. Last words that always went unheard because death was cruel like that, but also ultimately fair. However, death was not there at the moment. There was only Erik, alone with the dying woman and her unborn child.

And no matter how hard he tried to deny it, he could not push it out of his mind that this woman deserved a second chance at life. Not for herself but for the child that she was carrying. Because witnessing such selflessness at a person's last moments was a rare glimpse of heaven in the wicked world he was currently residing in. And damn him if he was going to turn a deaf ear to this woman's dying wish, consequences be damned too.

But for the child to live, the woman also had to.

The cards he held in his hands now didn't seem as heavy as they were moments ago. At this, he felt his heart stutter, a spark of hope making its home in his chest, warming him. It was something he hadn't felt in a long time, and feeling it now seemed so surreal. Indeed, he'd seen his fair share of things that were far stranger than hope, but something about it never ceased to amaze and terrify him at the same time. How could it not? It was both capable of filling the empty spaces in what was left of his soul and prolonging the torment he was going through. Hope - it was something he thought he could never be capable of feeling ever again.

Yet there it was, present beyond question and doubt as he set himself once more on the path that would lead past the point of no return.

Because what he was about to do meant defying death and upsetting the course of nature itself, of ancient powers that the human mind could not begin to fathom.

In another of his pockets sat a lighter, a plain, silver one that he always kept within his person despite having no foreseeable use for it. Until now. Now he could see why his gut always told him to carry it, why he never doubted the voice in his head that told him to keep it when he found it in the corner of a street one night. He retrieved it from his pocket with his free hand while he kept his gaze on the woman bleeding red against the white snow. Here he was, bearing witness to the scene before him as he turned to what was supposed to be the last page of the book that told her story. It was not a beautiful sight but that didn't mean things couldn't change for the better from that moment on. Not if he could do something about it.

Curling his fingers around the lighter, he flicked the lid open from it as he held the two black cards near it. Using his thumb, he rolled down the metal spark wheel into the ignition button. There, he held his thumb down to keep it in place. A small flame flickered to life before his eyes, breathing in the air around him as it danced against the cold brush of winter. He only had a second to admire the brightness of the small tongue of fire before he raised the first card above it.

The card caught fire and began to burn. Next was the second card, the one that had written on it the unborn child's name.

He flicked the lid back into its place before he pocketed the lighter. In one hand, he held both black cards, engulfed in the sea of flames that was devouring them. Even as the fire neared his fingers that held the cards, the heat was impervious to him, thanks to the black leather gloves he always wore. But as the flames ate away the cards, he could feel his stomach drop as his heart clenched, suffocating him for a moment. A thousand voices screamed at him to stop but he never wavered. Chills crawled beneath his skin, eating and clawing at him, but he ignored it all. His eyes never left the cards until he was sure that the inferno he created had left nothing but ashes in its wake, the black card stocks reduced to nothing. The embers drifted down towards the blanket of snow on the ground before disappearing in the cold, leaving not a single trace.

Silence filled the air before it was broken.

The woman let out a gasp, a loud and vigorous one, as if she was sucking in back all the life that had escaped her earlier. Her breathing grew rapid, the fall and rise of her chest growing erratic before slowing down to a normal pace. The haze in her green eyes was lifted, bringing back their piercing sheen as she stared at the heavens above her. The color came back to her cheeks, her skin no longer a pallid shade of gray. They were all the results of what he had done, all indications that she and her child were going to survive after all.

He could feel it so, magic and mystery stirring in the winter air around him as they tugged at the powers he was imbued with. The atmosphere changed, the stars shined brighter, his heart grew lighter. A weight was lifted from his chest as he stared at the stirring form of the woman on the ground. And he knew then and there that both mother and child would live to see another day.

People would see this as a miracle, but the simple truth was that this was the doing of a reaper who had gone against the orders of his master, death.

With one last glance at the woman, Erik turned his back to her and silently walked away into the night.