Author's Note: I know some of you will hate me for doing this, but I deleted 'Lux'. I hated it. I hated updating it, I hated seeing typos everywhere and grammer mistakes, I hated the out-of-character-ness, I hated the plot, and generally DESPISED IT WITH AN UTMOST LOATHING. So, I'm rewriting it. There will be many differences. If you didn't see the first one, well, you're lucky. Just for reference--Setting: San Francisco. Time: Modern. Version: Mostly Gerik, but with a few twists here and there. For now, read on.

Chapter One

One, lonely soul was within the black iron gates of Beaumonte Cemetery. One woman kneeling at a grave, with a monument of an angel standing over it. One daughter mourning for a long-dead father...

Christine Daae looked around her and noticed her solitude and was relieved. Today, on her father's birthday, she wanted to give him something she knew he would be able to recieve from beyond his death: a song. She used to love to sing---it was nearly her life. But since Gustave Daae's death due to a heart attack six years prior, she had kept silent. She never even hummed. Otherwise she recovered quite well with faith that Mr. Daae was now at peace, but had always thought her song was a gift only to him, and would only be shared with him. Now he would hear her for the first time in many years.

Christine pulled a piece of sheet music from a folder she had brought with her. She dared not even practice the song she had composed especially for her father.

Dad would say he'd love it even if I sound like a toad..., she thought, smiling before she cleared her throat and slowly began:

You were once my one companion,

you were all that mattered.

You were once a friend and father...

then my world was shattered.

She looked up from the cold earth to the angel monument, getting a little more confident.

Wishing you were somehow here again...

wishing you were somehow near.

Sometimes it seemed,

if I just dreamed

Somehow you would be here...

Wishing I could hear your voice again,

Knowing that I never would.

Dreaming of you won't help me to do

all that you dreamed I could...

Gazing at the other graves with a melancholy stare, she continued with a lower, softer voice.

Passing bells and sculpted angels,

cold and monumental...

Seem for you the wrong companions

you were warm and gentle...

Christine paused to stand and wipe away the tears that threatened to leak from her dark eyes. Vivid images of the happy times with her father flashed through her mind faster than she could blink. Her voice grew even louder and more emotional until it felt like she had floated away from the earth, now singing directly to a smiling Gustave.

Too many years fighting back tears

Why can't the past just die?

Wishing you were somehow here again

Knowing we must say goodbye...

Try to forgive! Teach me to live,

Give me the strength to try!

No more memories, no more silent tears

No more gazing across the wasted years...

Help me say goodbye....

Help me say...good...bye....

She knelt back down before the monument and placed a single white rose on the headstone, then sighed.

"I love you, Dad.", she whispered, turning away and slowly disappearing in the maze of graves. But she had been mistaken--Mr. Daae was not the only one who had been listening...

As soon as she had left the cemetery, a young man emerged from behind a nearby mauloseum, mouth open in awe. His worn black shoes crunched in the leaves as he slowly walked out of the shadows into the sunlight. He wore torn jeans and a plain black shirt that hung to his lean frame like it would on a hanger. His pale hands were hidden in the pockets of his black coat, and over his slightly shaggy, ebony hair was a dark felt hat, pulled down as low as possible. Frankly the only thing he wore that wasn't black was an odd half of a mask, almost glaring white against all the dark colours. His right eye was pale blue, and his left was a sea-green. They flickered sadly over the white rose, then raised to the graveyard's exit. He gave the rose a last glance before heading towards the gates.

Fortunate for you that you did not bring your violin out today, Erik..., he thought to himself, loping across the street and down sidewalks. You would have been extremely tempted to play along with that lovely girl's voice...what a glorious sound that would be combined...but it would be frightening for her, however.

An old, red brick warehouse came into view. Half of the windows on the five stories were broken, with black shreds of tarps flying in the breeze. The visible part of Erik's face lit up when he saw the abandoned building, and he ran faster to reach it. Once he stood in front of the building, he took a break to catch his breath, searching his pockets for something. He jammed a silver key into the keyhole of the front door, hastily turned it, and rushed out of the cold.

The first floor of the building was a complete wreck, with tarps and broken glass strewn across the dusty, concrete floor. Even though it was broad daylight outside, it was rather gloomy within. Erik made a beeline for the spiral staircase dead ahead of him. Thus he began his five story trek. THe next two floors were full of rubbish, but the fourth was considerably clean. He continued to climb ever higher until he reached the fifth floor: his home.

Erik slowly took in everything with his mismatched gaze. Books were piled up almost to the ceiling, papers strewn across a desk that had been abandoned with the building itself...dusty windows wide open to flood the room with a rare, glorious light...he loved this place. A cheap air mattress lay in a corner with a messy pile of blankets atop it, an old pillow at the head. And there, resting against the wall was the item that had given him everything: his violin.

If the instrument had an expression, it would be one of eager welcome. The violin's mohogany neck glinted in the yellow light, it's bow placed beside it, a thin little companion. Erik smiled as he strode across the room and promptly collapsed on the air mattress. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, remembering the girl--well, woman was a better word--who sang so ethereally at the cemetery. He had just been walking through the graveyard in boredom, reading the headstones with morbid curiosity when an angel's voice soared throught the dreary atmosphere. Sure she had obviously not used the instrument in a rather long time, but just her natural voice stunned him. He would have been equally shocked if she had been merely speaking to him. Through her song, he had become more entranced but at the same time, sympathetic. How he wanted to follow her, to stop her and ask her meekly to sing again, or at least speak to him, filling his ears with that beautiful sound...he would be happy just looking at her lovely pale face. She'd be a wonderful inspiration for a song...

Erik sat up and reached for his violin, gently grasping it and adjusting it on his shoulder, positioning the bow. He closed his eyes and summoned every detail, every sound, every emotion he could recall from that angelic stranger. And slowly, experimentally, he began to play.

An hour later, he had it on paper. The notes were gracefully drawn on the printed staff, making waves of music, and Erik's name was signed at the bottom. Seeing as no one ever read his compositions, he never understood why he did that, but he just did. He just learned his songs by heart, went to a crowded area in the city, and played and sang until his whole body was sore and his pockets were full of cash.

He got up again and opened up a paper bag lying on his desk and pulled out a five dollar bill and a few ones.

That should be enough for lunch...now where oh where shall I eat today?

AN: I'm a lot more satisfied with this than I was with my other story. I hope you are too. Let me know!