~White Lily, Blue Ribbon~

One evening the Phantom arrived back from visiting the rehearsal for the following month's performance of "Rigoletto". Still humming the tune to "La Dona e Mobile" under his breath, he waved one of his gloves in front of him as he walked, as if conducting. He was feeling rather pleased with himself; too often the male romantic leads were played by overweight old men, for they were the only ones with enough power and range to accommodate the role. Not so with Sebastian. The boy was a fast learner, and it had taken hardly any time at all to bring him up to scratch.

Erik leapt onto the platform and prepared to haul himself up to the trapdoor, when he felt the crunch of broken glass under his boot and froze in his tracks. He lit a match, better to see by, and knelt, fingering the shards of it in his hand. It was the remains of a lamp, and it was still warm.

Suddenly his heart was in his mouth, and he hauled himself higher and higher, as fast as his protesting muscles would allow. When he finally reached the trapdoor he threw it open and leapt out, drawing his knife. There was no one in the room, but it had been ransacked.

Nothing about the room was any different from the way he'd left it that morning; drawers were still left open, the contents of which were on the floor. Crates were still scattered about, half full. No, the Phantom knew someone else had been there, from the fact that the lock of his trunk- the one he kept locked at all times- had been picked, and it was sitting open.

His heart started to beat faster. Who had been in here? Had they been looking for him? Had Evie finally told them where he'd been hiding? He'd thought she'd been taking her time about it... did they think he'd moved on? Did that mean he was safe to stay? Why had they opened his trunk?

As he crept closer, boots making barely a noise on the wooden floor, his palms began to sweat, but it wasn't until he saw inside that the impact fully hit him. He stared into the chest for a while, stock still, before kneeling at it and reaching inside.

The last remaining score of 'Don Juan' -the one he'd kept locked away in this trunk- was gone. In it's place, was a single white lily with a ribbon tied around it of the deepest blue. He knew who had done this.

The hand that held the flower began to shake, before he crushed it in his fist, teeth grinding together in blinding anger. He'd been thwarted, and by her?

It was her? She'd had the nerve to come back and steal from him? Well she would realise her mistake. That much was certain.

One didn't simply steal from the Phantom of the Opera.

xXx

It wasn't hard for Erik to locate Evie. All he had to do was follow the screaming. He found her arguing with her mother in the dressing room he had set fire to so many weeks ago. They had been making such a fuss that they'd started to attract spectators, people that came into the hallway and peered into the door, just to see what all the fuss was about. The Maestro was in there too, acting as mediator. Or attempting to, in any case.

"I wont!" Evie snarled, putting the table between herself and the other two. "You can take your proposal, your god damn lead tenor, and you can shove them up your collective arses. I don't want them!"

… Erik was taken aback. Those were the things that Victoria had promised to her if she revealed to them the location of his hiding place.

She... she wasn't giving him up? After what he had done to her, she wasn't going to betray him? And slowly, creeping up on him like fatigue, a shame of impossible weight settled on his shoulders. After all his certainty she would betray him, he instead had betrayed her; when he had withheld his past from her; when he had struck her; when he had gone and replaced her with her best friend... It had been him, all along.

He opened his hand, the crushed and dying lily still laying in his palm. Who was he trying to fool? She had been perfect...

From down below, the voices started up again.

"You'd be prepared to earn the hatred of this entire opera house, to save a man you barely know?" the Maestro growled, standing up. Evie narrowed her eyes.

"Easily."

"I don't know what crazy ideas you have got into your head Evelyn!" Victoria shrieked, "that make you think he would think twice before giving you the same treatment Georgia received, but it's time to grow up! That man, that thing is not your father!"

Evie would not be outdone. She raised her own voice to match.

"Well thanks to you, he was the closest thing I've ever had and I will die before I betray him to an ugly, squashed-nosed hag like you!"

A vein in Victoria's temple twitched as she stared at her daughter for a second. Slowly, her shaking hand reached out to the little wooden desk; from which she took the glass decanter of spirits in her hand; against which she smashed it.

She advanced towards the little girl now, broken bottle clutched tightly in her hand. "I'll show you disfigurement." she hissed under her breath.

Evie's eyes widened in fear, and she took a half step back. "Victoria!" the Maestro cried as Victoria raised the bottle over her head, but it was too late.

The screams sent a chill through the bones of every man and woman present. By the time two of the more burly stage hands were able to wrestle the ex-Prima Donna from her daughter, Evie was in a crumpled heap on the ground, blood trickling through the fingers that covered her face.

Victoria fought against the stage hands, screaming rage and murder. After some moments of struggling, they found they had to pin her against the wall to keep her from attacking Evie again. Until, all of a sudden Victoria stopped moving, her eyes going blank and glazing over.

The stage hands, Hamish and Gregory frowned at the sudden lack of resistance, taking a step back and releasing her. She fell forward, sprawled on her face.

There was a collective gasp from around the room at the pool of blood, blossoming on her back almost as if from nowhere. Then they saw the blade in the wall.

"To all who would do Evelyn harm..." the Maestro said, his soft words quelling the uproar, "bear witness to this..." he himself stared at the blade, as if not entirely convinced what he had just witnessed was real, "for God in heaven only knows why... but the Phantom of the London Opera surely loves her a great deal..." he sank into a chair, seemingly unable to support his own weight any longer. People rushed to Victoria's side but she was already too far gone. She died only an hour or so later.

It wasn't until weeks later that they discovered the panel could be pushed aside, and found the blade belonged to the hilt of a sword that had been thrust through from the secret passage within the walls. By that time Evelyn was already in the hospital, the majority of her face wrapped in fine, white gauze.

She thought she was dreaming one night when she felt a breeze on her skin; the breeze from the window which the nurse had surely closed on the way out. She thought she imagined the soft footsteps approaching her, but there was no mistaking that the gloved hand which took her own was real.

"Who's there?" she whispered from behind her mask of bandages. "Erik?"

"I'm here, ma cherie." came his velvety voice from near her ear. She drew a sharp breath, that stung her damaged lips.

"The music- I'm sorry-" she shrank away from him, her voice panicked. She was frightened of him. It made his eyes sting a little, but he knew it was only right. "I didn't know what I was thinking- It's in the secret room- please just don't-" hurt me...

"Evie, it's alright." he murmured, his voice choked. "The music is nothing. Nothing at all. It's yours now. No one will hurt you ever again. Not ever."

She was silent for a moment, as if she didn't quite know what to do with the information he had just presented to her. "You're not furious?" she whispered, sounding a little confused.

"No, cherie." he whispered, running a hand over her inky hair. "Nothing could be further from the truth... please. Don't be afraid..."

"I'm not afraid!" she protested, voice shaking. "I just can't see." She was silent a long while before she spoke, her voice a murmur only the keenest ear could detect. "It's so dark... please tell me Erik, am I just like you, now...?" she raised a hand to her face, but didn't touch it, for fear of the pain.

"Oh, Evie." he sighed. "You are so much better than me..."

"They say she's dead." Evie said softly. "They say the Opera Ghost killed her." Erik turned his face away. "...Is it true?"

He was silent a long while. "Yes."

"Have you killed many people?"

"... Yes." his voice was barely audible, it was so soft.

… Good." she finally whispered. "I would be disappointed in you had you made a rash decision." her hand still trembled slightly. Despite her big words, she was still frightened. He took it in his own, softly kissing her knuckles.

"Evie... I promise you now, never to allow you to come to harm, ever again. I'm sorry for everything that has happened to you, but I swear to you now, you will have nothing to be afraid of. Nothing, for the rest of your life." He couldn't be entirely sure, but it seemed as if she were crying, from behind the gauze that covered her face. "I promise."

"I'm not afraid. I just can't see. That's all."

The following morning, the nurse was slightly confused as to the origin of a vase of white lilies that sat on the little girl's dressing-table, which she was convinced hadn't been there the previous night.

xXx
1917, Paris France

It was Autumn, and the fallen leaves rustled around the old man's feet as he stood in front of the great white headstone. He'd never thought he'd outlive her. He brushed a couple of leaves from the base of the stone, freshly engraved. He'd only received word that she had passed away a couple days ago, from an anonymous letter in the mail, which he suspected was Madame Giry's daughter, Meg. There was no way the old lady had survived this long...

There was an image of her on the grave, older as well; gray haired. She still looked like his Christine though. He half-expected a wave of emotion to overwhelm him, as it might have in the past. He was surprised, however, to feel relatively little. A fond nostalgia and melancholy crept up on him, as hunger might, but all in all he was the picture of calm as he stood over her grave.

Because he had bid goodbye to Christine Daae long before this day.

He twirled the flower in his fingers for a moment, and finally smiled, setting it on the stone. "You led a blessed life." he whispered. "Bon voyage, ma cherie."

The old man turned to walk away, towards the figure that stood at the cemetery gate. A woman, grown now. She wore a dark veil and held a thin cane adorned by a scarlet bow in her hands. She smiled as she heard him approach and took his arm.

He too, had led a blessed life.

~ finis ~

A/N: Stretching the rules a bit early on there, I know. Technically speaking, there is no way to train someone for OPERA that fast. Especially as Sebastian had no prior training. But lets just say that dear Erik has magical teaching powers and move along, accepting that in the future we will look back on this, laugh awkwardly and change the subject~
PUPPIES! =D

SO, We have at last come to the end of this journey. I hope you all enjoyed yourselves and if so, you could possibly maybe leave a token of your appreciation on the reviews page? She hinted, subtly.
I'd like to once again thank KnutCase, Suzetteisblue, Sami and everyone else who had their sticky hands in this from the start.

Thank you for reading and supporting this venture.

CANDYisEpic