A/N: Well, this is my first multi-chapter Phic. R&R, as if you didn't know.

Papa

A Long Walk

It was a year to the day since Christine had left the opera with Raoul. A year is a very long time for a wound to pain your heart without killing you, but somehow I was still alive. I hated it, but I couldn't bring myself to say the three words I had learned that would painlessly end my life. So I was still the amiable old PTO, though it wasn't fun as it had been before. Carlotta had left after the death of Signior Piangi, who had been her husband: she had had enough. Nobody was sorry to see her go, except Messieurs Andre and Firmin, who had the time of their lives trying to replace her. At first, I had nothing against the girl they chose, an Italian teen named Giulietta with a voice for opera better than Christine's, though I hated to admit it. But as I watched her more closely after she got the job, I discovered that she had no brains at all. She could almost remember how to say her lines and sing her songs, but nothing more. I didn't like Piangi's replacement, either. He was big and Spanish, and thought he was better than everyone, which he wasn't. He was exactly like Piangi, really.

When I wasn't beating new recruits into submission, I was thinking about Christine. Today more than usual. What had she left me for? Love? A vincomte? A pretty face? That one hurt me most. A pretty face. Why was I born ugly, but gifted with mental power that few could rival? Mozart was the only one that came to mind, and he had not been beautiful, either. At least he was not deformed. Maybe it was proof that God existed: the more gifted your mind was, the less gifted your form was, and vice-versa. But I had never really believed in God. It was just too bizarre.

Often I would go on night strolls through Paris as I thought. I would go to the streets near the river and follow them to the outskirts of the city. Those streets were dark, narrow, and somewhat disreputable. I would stare at the river and skip stones. I would wish that Christine was there with me, and that Raoul was dead. Why hadn't I killed him? I had held his life between two fingers: why had I given it back after he stole the one thing that was precious to me? Tears would come to my eyes, and I would stare at the sky and call her name.

Christine…

Christine…

"Why are you crying, monsieur?" a small voice asked. I jumped and looked down. A tiny, dark girl with bloodshot eyes and a tearstained face was looking up at me.

"Because…I have lost…

"Your Christine?" she said helpfully.

I turned back to the river. "Yes. I've lost my Christine."

"Would you like me to help you find it?"

That absurdity took a moment to register. I smiled a little. "No, little girl." I looked back down at her. "Why were you crying?"

She bit her fingers. "Uncle's house burned down, and I ran away after Papa threw me out the window. And now I'm lost, I'm hungry, my parents d—died, and my ankle got hurt when I fell. Please help me, Monsieur." Her enormous brown eyes were like those of a lost fawn.

I blinked. Could I take her? She could occupy my thoughts, and maybe I could be happy again. "Is your father dead?" I asked her. She nodded. "What is your name?"

"Adelita."

I paused. What a pretty Spanish name, Adelita. How could I leave her there? Then I would truly be a beast. "Would you like to stay with me?"

She looked me over. "I think so." I picked her up. She put her arms around my neck. She couldn't have been more than three or four—she was very light. I carried her to the deserted bakery where the entrance to the labyrinth was.

"You live here?" she asked when we got to the bakery.

"No. I can't carry you down the ladder, but I'll catch you." I went down the ladder, and she followed carefully, given her twisted ankle. She jumped, and I caught her. How she trusted me. It was almost frightening. Christine was the only one who had trusted me, and she had regretted it. I hoped Adelita wouldn't. She was shivering.

"I'm afraid of the dark," she whimpered.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," I told her. "Listen to it."

She held perfectly still as I carried her to the dock. "What should I hear?" she asked.

"The music of the night." I started humming the song I had written for Christine. We got in the boat and I poled it across the lake. I examined her more closely. She would be almost level with the keyboard of an organ. She wore a pale blue silk dress, stained with soot. Her skin was dark, like a Spanish Moor's, and her hair was jet black and curly. Her brown eyes were wide set and staring, reflecting every candle on the lake. She seemed to be afraid of something else. She looked around and crouched low in the boat.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The candles," she almost sobbed. "They frighten me."

I was puzzled, but then I remembered that her parents had just died in a fire. I picked one up. "Watch this." I dangled a bit of blanket in it, then put my hand in it. The candles were lit by magic, and didn't burn. Adelita reached out and touched the flame.

"It's cold. How funny." I threw it back in the lake and it bobbed itself right way up after landing flame down. She laughed and sat back up.

We arrived at the island I lived on. We got out of the boat. "While you're here, I don't want you to leave the island without me," I told her. "The lake is big, and you will get lost." She nodded sleepily. "Are you tired, Adelita?" Another nod. I tied up the boat. "You can sleep in the boat." She curled up in it and shut her eyes. I remembered that she had twisted her ankle. She didn't notice as I bound it, tipping the boat. I tentatively stroked her hair. What had possessed me? Was this feeling love? It must be, but a sort that I had never felt before. Dreamily I went to my desk and began to work on my opera. My mind kept wandering at first, but as it grew later I lost myself in my music as usual.

A small voice interrupted me after a very long time. It badly, haltingly read the poem I had written yesterday with no conscious thought, breaking my heart into more tiny pieces with every word.

I taught you everything I knew,

I showed you how to find what lay behind the mask,

All I asked of you was love.

You were my light in the darkness,

You were the star that helped me to find my way.

What did you leave me for, Christine?

"Ker-ees-tee-nay," she said.

"Christine," I corrected dully.

"Oh. This is a poem about your Christine, then?"

"Yes, Adelita."

"What is a Christine, anyway?"

I didn't want to tell her. That was a very private matter. But she did ask directly, and I would have to tell her someday. "Christine was a girl. I loved her. I loved her more than I've ever loved anything."

Adelita put the poem back on my desk. "What happened?"

"She—she left me, Adelita. She left me for another man."

"All alone in the dark?"

"Yes. All alone in the dark." I slowly wrote a note or two on the song I had been working on. A tear splashed onto it, ruining a measure. A small hand touched my arm.

"Did you sleep?"

"No. Composers don't sleep much."

"You're a composer?"

"Yes. Opera, mostly."

She went back to the boat for a blanket. "Is it always so dark here?"

"Yes."

"Why do you live here, then?"

"Because…people don't like me at all."

"Why not?"

"If you learn the first part of that story, I'll tell you the rest," I said carefully. "But not now. It's not a good story, Adelita. When you're older, if…well, not now." I put my pen down and got up. "Would you like something to eat? I have very little, but enough for us." I got some slightly stale croissants out of my pantry, with a few apples and a pitcher of water. We sat on the ground to eat.

"Are you a magician?" she asked halfway through her apple.

I blinked. "I suppose." I lit my finger on fire with a loud pop. The flame slowly died as I remembered the flames I had flicked at Raoul.

"Why do you wear that mask?"

I touched it. What on earth should I tell her? I couldn't tell her it was a secret—she would pester me about it until I told her. Finally I said, "I've worn it for so long, I feel naked without it." This was true.

I taught her all I could. I taught her to read, to write, to do simple math, to read music, to sing, to play the flute and the piano, to dance. The last was most difficult I had to keep the piano going with magic while I taught her the steps. Often I would lose concentration and the music would stop after hitting a few bad notes. Besides, I didn't know the girls' steps well.

Six months or so later, Adelita found the music box.

A/N: In the next chapter, there is a music box (obviously) an opera, problems begin to arise, and we have a small, happy family. Stay tuned…