Prologue

Paris, 1880

Prince Nicholas Alexandrovich Alexandrov sat completely entranced by the emotional display on the stage. The performance had taken an unexpected and profoundly intimate turn as the male soprano took the hands of the lovely Miss Daaé. Never had he witnessed such an poignant performance, captivated by the unfolding drama before him, he was quite stunned when in a swift move the mask was removed. Like the rest of the audience an astonished gasp escaped his lips as he observed the disfigurement which afflicted only one side of the man's face. From the corner of his eye he noticed the officers hurrying towards the stage. In a blink of eye the disfigured soprano leaned forward and promptly cut a rope before both figures miraculously disappeared from the stage.

"Impossible." He whispered as a sudden rumbling began deafening the surprised cries echoing in the theater. His head snapped up to the source of the sound as he realized the rumbling was coming from the ceiling. Instantly, pieces of the ceiling began to break away as the chandelier suddenly began to descend.

From his private box, he observed as the horrified audience urgently attempted to escape its path, but for some, it was unfeasible. The force of the impact caused his box to vibrate violently. He turned his attention back to the stage to see various officers whose faces mirrored the same bewildered expressions as the audience.

It was the smell of smoke alerted him to the most pressing danger. His gaze went to where the chandelier had crashed, the fire was rapidly spreading; without hesitating; he began to make his way out of the theatre.

Once outside he found aristocrats and beggars a like standing in stone silence as they witnessed the destruction of the great Opera Garnier. A knot formed in his chest as he watched the home of some of his most cherished memories disintegrate before his very eyes.

Had she managed to escape? Anger and panic began to swell within him as he realized he failed to ensure her safety. He looked around desperate to see her face among the faces of those gathered around him. It was only then, he spotted a lone figure in the street. For a moment, he forgot his surroundings, as a familiar pang invaded his heart.

His feet slowly began to move on their own accord as various emotions surged through him. She had changed little over the years, he mused as he observed her. Perhaps it was the nostalgic longing for the past which prevented him from seeing her as anything less than beautiful, yet there was no denying there was a significant bond which would always bind them.

As though sensing his presence, she turned around, her eyes locking with his. For the first time in years, he found himself face to face with Antoinette Giry.

"Nicky." He smiled at the use of his old nickname, stirring dormant emotions long buried but never forgotten. As his lips prepared to part to utter a greetings, he noted her trembling hands.

"Antoinette, what is wrong?" he gently took her hands in his, attempting to alleviate her trembling. "Are you hurt?"

"I 'm waiting," she looked back to the burning building. He noted her flushed face and widened eyes, underlining her vulnerability.

"Waiting?" He probed gently hoping enough trust existed between them for her to share her concerns.

"Meg she went-"Her voice trembled, "I mean I asked her to-"

"Please calm yourself," He urged as he placed a hand on her cheek. She lowered her eyes from his gaze but otherwise did not flinch away from his touch. She slowly nodded as she took a moment to compose herself. "Come now; explain to me what is wrong," and thus he listened as his Antoinette began to tell a tangled tale of a masked genius whose dejected passion had brought about the devastation around them.

Erik frantically hurried through the murky tunnel. He was certain the embittered mob would soon locate the entrance to his secreted passage. It was critical he place as much distance between himself and the lair he had considered home for so many years. Even as he raced through the darkness, his thoughts continued to linger on Christine.

For a moment, just a moment, he had believed she had chosen him. His heart had foolishly swelled with hope and joy. It was only when he saw her guilt-ridden eyes that he noticed the ring in her hand. His heart shattered once more when he realized she had only returned to return his gift. He clenched the ring even harder, his eyes burning with anger, resentment and disenchantment. His Christine had chosen that boy.

"Erik!"

He froze at the sound of his name. So few knew his name, yet only one would dare use it. He'd recognize her voice anywhere. Slowly he turned to see Madame Giry rushing towards him. He kept his hand firmly on the marred side of his face as she approached him.

"Come with me; quickly!" His eyes narrowed as she reached for his hand.

"So you may feed me to the mob?" He hissed venomously as he recoiled from her touch.

"Erik, please listen! I'm trying to help you-"

"Help me?" He sneered, "You! The only person I have trusted, have betrayed me like the rest!"

"Erik!" she frantically attempted to reason, "Listen to me, please! Do you believe I would have betrayed you? I feared for you both, and acted according to my conscious. I never wanted any of this for you Erik," the desperation in her voice made him realize the sincerity of her words, "Please allow me to help you."

"Leave me to my fate," he whispered softly, "I'm beyond your help Antoinette."

"I have a friend who can help you. He is our only hope."

"You expect me to trust in a stranger?"

"Erik, I beg you! Listen to me! You must leave Paris, you cannot remain here. This man will not betray you; he has the means to facilitate your escape. Please, accept his assistance!"

He looked at her with hatred. At that moment, he hated her; he hated Raoul, Christine, life itself. He knew she spoke the truth when she said he had to leave Paris. His bruised heart had risked it all on an ill-fated hand, and now he was left without a home, his art, and Christine. He had lost everything he had held sacred. There was nothing left for him Paris. Without resources and alternatives, he realized he had little choice but depart his beloved Paris.

"Very well, Madame, I will accept this assistance, but I swear if you have deceived me, I will unleash my vengeance not on you but upon your daughter." Madame Giry paled, but her gaze never wavered from his as she nodded.

"Come with me."

Nicholas paced back and forth before his carriage. He should have gone with her, to fetch her so called ward. She had insisted he remained there, claiming his presence would do more harm than good. It had been some time, and with every passing minute, his anxiety intensified. Antoinette had seemed certain no harm would come to her. Despite her assurances, he felt her faith was perhaps ill placed. After all, had he not just witnessed the aftermath of the man's volatile temperament? Despite his reservations about the man in question, her emotional plea made him realize Antoinette genuinely cared for the man. A twinge breached his heart as he pondered the depth of her affections.

He pushed the covetous thoughts aside as he resolved to fulfill his word. After what seemed like an eternity, Antoinette and a man emerged cautiously from the shadows. He glanced at the wretched soul who had a hand firmly over part of his face. Seeing the man's disheveled and ragged appearance, arose his empathy. This hardly appeared to be same proud soprano who had performed with such zealousness earlier in the evening. The man before him was broken.

"Erik this is my friend Nicholas," she introduced, "he will help you."

"Please come quickly, we do not have much time." Nicholas urged as he handed his cloak to the man and opened the door to his carriage. He hesitated for a moment, turning to Antoinette who gave him a gentle encouraging nod.

"Hurry we must have you depart before someone sees you." He said nothing only providing Antoinette long glance before climbing in.

"Antoinette," Nicholas took her hand and kissed it tenderly. A faint blush appeared across her face, "I will send word of our safe journey," He observed her for a moment, "I wish-," She hushed him as her fingertips came over his lips, nodding in silent understanding. Loathing to be parted after such a brief encounter, he realized there was no time to spare. He quickly climbed into his carriage and instructed his driver to head for the train station. They were to depart for Russia at once.

A/N: Still alive. Found the original on my old desktop, along with the revised chapters. So better or for worse, gradually the entire story will be re-posted.