He had not known himself well enough to understand why Antoinette Giry was so upset. The kind girl who had saved him from hell and brought him to his beloved Opera house, now stood before him as a woman shaking with rage. She clutched so tightly at the stuffed rabbit that her fingers disappeared into its soft white fur. The rabbit wore a little pink skirt, which he had not put on it.

"Erik, I have been a good friend to you, have I not?" She said.

"Of course, you have."

She looked him in the eyes. They were now of equal height, and both knew he would soon out pace her. "In these years, I have never once asked anything of you."

He stood quiet. The line of conversation was making him uncomfortable. "I have something to ask of you, and I pray that as you value our friendship, as you value me, you will do this one thing for me."

"Anything." He was still too young to understand the power of promising before you heard a request. And he trusted Antoinette with his life.

Her eyes narrowed, and he did not recognize the woman before him. "Stay away from Marguerite." She thrust the rabbit into his chest.

"It was just a gift. A child needs toys. I would know. She was sick and you were busy teaching. I did -"

"Leave my daughter alone." Antoinette said firmly. He thought of Antoinette as a sister. A quiet, distant sister, but one who cared for him, nonetheless. He had watched Marguerite grow up from a messy baby into a clumsy toddler with more than a little warmth in his chest. But in this moment, he saw the true distance that lay between him and the Giry family.

Erik closed his hand around the hand-sewn rabbit. "Promise me." She said. That relenting stare of hers refused to let him be. He felt cold, and oddly tired.

"As you wish, Antoinette." She nodded sharply, still angry, and left him alone in the darkness.

For two years he kept his word. The clumsy toddler grew into a child of pure mischief whose mother's reprimands could only stay her curiosity for a few hours at a time. She climbed everything, looked in every dark corner, and more than once she had been close enough for him to whisper to. But he kept his word.

Until she debuted in the chorus.

He had seen her practicing with others but seeing her on the stage among the other children ballerinas, she stood out for the music in her feet. While the others danced to the music, she felt it. He, as a connoisseur of the arts, was more than impressed by her talent. He felt an odd sense of pride that she seemed to love the music almost as much as he did.

It was a note of congratulations and a box of bonbons. All children love sweets. He hadn't signed the note, he hadn't spoken to her, he had done nothing. Yet, Antoinette stood before him, shaking with a quiet fury. "You promised." She accused him.

"I have left your daughter alone."

"Then what is this?" She held out the note and the sweets.

Erik sighed, frustrated. "She did well today."

"That is not your business." She shouted at him. She had never shouted at him before. "You made a promise, but if you cannot keep it then I will have to take my daughter away. If you speak to her, we will leave. If you leave her a gift or a note, we will leave. If you do anything to reach her, or make her aware of your presence, we will leave. If you hurt her in any way -"

"You believe I would hurt your daughter?" Erik said. When he asked that question, he himself had not known that that would be the last time, for a long time, that anyone would hear the natural softness in his voice.

She did not reply, she merely forced the notes and box of sweets back into his hands. He did not need her anymore; he could run his affairs on his own. But there was still a child in him that feared being truly alone. He turned from her and walked away, and from that moment he could never truly refer to her as a friend.