Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction, so reviews are appreciated but not necessary.

Disclaimer: And, of course, I own none of these characters (except for the Angel of the Opera, she's mine).

Phantom gazed into the impenetrable darkness beneath the Paris Opera House, heart torn out by the immense betrayal he had just experienced at the hands of his one love. Christine Daae, the only woman he had ever truly felt affection for, had abandoned him, and Erik knew in his heart that she would not return. A swirl of emotions engulfed him that lonely night when she chose the other man over him: betrayal, depression, intense loathing. The Phantom kept replaying the scene from but a moment ago over and over in his head: Christine going with Raoul, returning only to give him the ring he'd offered her, the still-echoing sound of the lovers serenading each other as they drifted away in their boat. He had practically given his life for her, how could Christine have left him as she had? What would make her hate him so, as not to give him a second thought when choosing between he and the Vicomte? He sighed, already knowing the answer to those questions.

It was because of the murders. Yes, his physical deformity and Raoul's high social status played major parts as well, but he realized that no woman would want to spend her life with a murderer, the only reason they would being if they did not know. Unfortunately, Christine Daae *did* know, and also knew quite well that he had only killed when necessary, but that did not matter. She refused to have him, and that was the worst penance a man like him could ever receive.

He could hear the mob of people proceeding down into his caves, prepared to vanquish the evil living under the opera once and for all. Well, Phantom thought, sighing, let them come. It does not matter anymore, if Christine will be with *Raoul*. He glared over the lake: he could barely make out the shapes of Christine and her lover in his boat, sailing off to their happily ever after, leaving Erik alone and hurt. Funny how nobody wonders how the villain feels at the end of the fairy tale.

Suddenly, just as Phantom was about to give his life to the men and women in the impending mob, he heard a voice. It was high and soft, and the most lovely thing he had ever heard (which was certainly saying something, living under an opera house). The voice was singing, but the Phantom could not make out the words, if any were there in the first place. Nevertheless, it was a sad, haunting melody, the likes of which he had never heard before. Immediately, he was hypnotized by the sheer beauty of it, and glanced about as if to find the origin. However, he saw nothing that could cause such a melody as that, and realized that the mysterious singing was somewhat distant- in the opera house, of course, but in a far-off portion. The East Wing, or perhaps on a higher floor of the theatre.

Entranced, the Phantom looked around, searching for a means of escape. He *had* to find this voice, if not for his sake, for the singer's. A sound like that must *not* remain unnoticed, it would be criminal. The feelings of betrayal he had felt a second ago were forgotten upon hearing the spellbinding music, and Erik's musical side kicked in once more. In a flash, he saw a ladder a few feet away, the means of which he had used before to pass through a trapdoor and into the backstage area. Silently and deftly, he climbed up it and found himself behind the curtains, the actors and actresses bustling about, not paying any attention to the cloaked figure in their frantic quest to make it to their cues on time. Below him, the mob descended upon his hiding place.

Erik made his way calmly through the chaos and skimmed the crowd for the only person he knew that he could trust. Finally, he found her, giving quick advice to her daughter before young Meg had to return to the chorus.

"Madame Giry," Phantom said, coming up behind her. The poor woman almost jumped out of her skin.

"Oh, Monsieur, you startled me," she said, ushering him to a more private section of the theatre, "After that fiasco you caused onstage a few moments ago, I feared someone might have done you in by now. I am surprised to hear your voice again, but not unpleasantly so."

"Fortunately for myself," Erik said, "I know this theatre better than anyone else: escape comes very easily when I need it. Now, down to business. A moment ago, I heard a voice. It was the most wonderful I have ever heard- soft, yet strong, with a hypnotic quality to it. You must tell me whose it is, I would like to, ahem, assist them in their musical endeavors. Is it one of your dancers?"

Madame smiled fondly, "No, it is not a dancer. That voice, as legend has it, does not belong to any mortal creature."

"Oh?" Phantom asked, intrigued, "How so?" He backed behind a curtain, getting out of sight of a passing police officer on the hunt for him.

"According to the stories," Giry said, as if remembering a childhood fairytale, "The voice belongs to the Angel of the Opera. She is a fallen angel who lives in the attic of the opera house, trapped by another jealous angel or staying of her own free will, depending on which version of the tale you wish to believe. Every few nights, you can hear her singing to coincide with the beginning or end of an opera. Many say that this is her way of bestowing a blessing on the performance, ensuring it a good run or the actors' good fortune. However, as with any mysterious creature, there are some that will not believe in her. Many skeptics think that she is simply an undiscovered chorus member, but I assure you Monsieur, she is not one of mine. Others thought that it was Christine Daae, but now that her singing is heard more often, one can point out the differences in their voices." Erik nodded.

"Thank you, Madame," Phantom replied, "Now, you said that she lived in the attic?"

Giry's smile faltered slightly, "Indeed, but I do not believe it would be wise to go looking for the Angel of the Opera. As with most stories, those who go searching for the truth usually return disappointed, in more ways than one."

"I appreciate the warning," he replied, "However, it is against my moral obligations to allow a voice like that to remain in the shadows, no matter to whom it may belong. I hope you understand." He gave her a quick bow and turned to the left, "With that, I must be on my way." Before the Phantom of the Opera disappeared once more, Madame Giry said something that stopped him short.

"One more thing," she said, "If Mademoiselle Daae should come by asking for her Angel of Music, what shall I say?"

Erik's eyes narrowed, a cold, bitter hatred engulfing him like a wave, "If she asks," he said sharply, looking back, "Tell her that she no longer *has* an Angel of Music." Giry was about to respond, but, by the time she turned to face the Phantom head-on, he was gone.