A/N:

This is simply based on the idea of what Erik's life might have been like if he hadn't been born deformed, but still possessed his multitude of talents.

I.

It was as if when God created Erik Raison, He had reached a mighty hand into a bag of talents and showered them like rain over the child's cradle. There was hardly any other explanation for the myriad gifts that the man possessed. He composed renowned and respected music, and it was said that he had the voice that could sound like an angel from heaven above or a demon from hell below. It wasn't enough that he could create beauty with his voice, was it? It seemed that the Almighty had one last gift in store for Mr. Raison when He made those pianist's hands that were just as adept at tuning an instrument as they were at creating building plans. There had been many that whispered it wasn't fair that one man should be both a talented composer, singer, and architect. Surely those talents could have been handed out to some other poor sod to give them a shot, and not just leave them working a thankless job in the props department?

Mr. Raison had become something of a legend in France in his own right, but had almost become a deity at the Palais Garnier. And it wasn't any surprise, considering the fact that he had had a hand in constructing the building and happened to be one of the opera's most avid patrons. If anyone deserved to be deified, it was the many who was partially responsible for the creation of a monument to opera itself.

But for all of his fame and talents, very few people could say that they truly knew the man. Certainly, there were those who crowded around him when he deigned to make a public appearance, their faces following him like sunflowers tilting toward the sun. And after he attended a performance at the opera, those same admirers would linger outside of Box Five (for all that no one knew him, where he would sit was certain. In that way, at least, he was a creature of habit). But he would manage to spin his words in such away that he was able to pull off his hangers-on and slip away. Those that spoke to him said that he seemed polite enough, and they never heard about anything untoward concerning his behavior, but they said that there was something inside his eyes that was deep and distant. And sometimes there was an edge to his words and a curl to his lip that said perhaps he would prefer not to be delayed in small-talk. But then others shrugged and said that he was a Renaissance Man, and geniuses had their heads filled with so many notions beyond the comprehension of ordinary folk, it really wasn't any surprise that he seemed a world apart from everyone else.

II.

If anyone had truly known Erik Raison, they would have known that those assessments regarding his genius setting him apart were not entirely inaccurate. But also, he thought, they failed to imagine that he might not fully enjoy conversations that were a repetition of those that he had heard dozens of times before. They always contained topics of who was romantically seeing whom, scandals regarding actors and actresses, and insinuations of indecent behavior. Erik was not averse to scant amounts of mingling when it was necessary, but if it was absolutely necessary to hold a conversation with him, he preferred topics of a different caliber than Ms. So-and-so marrying Mr. Whats-it.

So that was why he had somehow managed to convince his self-appointed courtiers that he needed to slip outside of the restaurant for a moment. He had decided to join the Opera Company and several other patrons to a restaurant after a performance. He hadn't particularly wanted to, but it was necessary to occasionally slither out of his self appointed cloister of his flat and mingle with others. However much he found small talk dis-interesting, it was important to stay aware of the various goings on in the musical world.

But as he stepped out into the darkness, he noticed another shape standing near the door, huddled with its arms around itself, a ghost of air drifting out of its parted lips. Irritated that he wasn't alone, but unsurprised he took a step closer to assess whether this person seemed as if they would bother him. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a thin young, blonde woman with her head lowered.

It likely wouldn't do well for his reputation if he surprised the girl and scared her out of her skin so, with reluctance he cleared his throat and resumed the polite, unflappable demeanor that he wore so often.

"Excuse me, I did not know that there would be someone out here as well."

The girl's shoulders jerked, and she raised her head, but relaxed when she saw his face. "I'm sorry, did you want to be alone?"

The answer to that question was yes, but he wasn't about to demand her to go back inside. Perhaps she needed a break from the throngs of people as well. "It's all right. I simply needed some fresh air."

"I understand." The girl rubbed her hand across her forearms, eyes looking out across the dark street that was still lined with the remnants of last week's snow, now dirtied by feet and horse refuse.

And he didn't think that her "understanding" was a platitude. Though she was not looking at him, he could see in her wide eyes that she was somewhere other than this dull street, somewhere other than the bright restaurant filled with laughter that she likely did not share. He could understand that too.

"I cannot blame you for going outside when you must deal with that lot daily."

She pressed her mouth into a faint smile, shaking her head. "It's not all that bad, usually. I'm grateful for the opportunity to even be in the Company at all, but tonight's performance didn't go particularly well. This weather encourages colds and sore throats, and well-" she waved a hand at her throat. "A crow likely would've sang better than I did tonight."

A sub-par performance was enough to irritate anyone. "Honestly, a fair enough number of the Company are made up of crows and toads. I doubt they noticed another among their number." He did not know her nor how her voice sounded, so he was not about to give her false assurances regarding the splendid quality of her voice, but the very least he could do was to offer some comfort to a young woman that seemed to be doing the best she could in what was admittedly a very competitive and stressful profession.

She made a sound in her nose that could have been a sigh or a quiet laugh. "Your assessment is harsh, sir. Are you a critic?"

"Merely someone who appreciates fine art and someone who notices when that art is not performed correctly." Though this woman seemed decent enough, he wasn't about to reveal his identity in case she suddenly wished for him to give her free music lessons or some such favor. He was sympathetic to artistic struggles, but he could not spare his time.

"I suppose that is a satisfactory answer-but, I'm sorry. I'm sure you don't wish to keep talking when you simply wanted to come outside. I'll leave you to yourself." She turned to re-enter the restaurant.

True enough, being alone was something he wanted at the moment, but he hadn't minded her talking. On the contrary, it was somewhat refreshing to talk to someone rather ordinary who had no hidden motives when talking to him. "You needn't do that if you do not wish to," he said.

Her hand paused against the door frame, and a slight breeze stirred a stray strand of her hair. A smile twitched at the edge or her mouth, but it didn't seem genuine. "It's all right. I should be going back in, at any rate."

"I hope the rest of your night proceeds more favorably, Ms-?"

"Daae. I hope you find your night refreshing as well, sir."

The woman creaked the door open, her shoes whispering against the threshold as she crept back inside, the door whining shut on hinges that needed to be oiled. Left in the darkness, Erik leaned against the wall and blinked against a mist that had settled.