Okay, POTO phans, here's a story for you. But only if you hate the way ALW's movie turns out, with Christine betraying Erik. And only if you don't mind Raoul-bashing. I'm not gonna tell you anything else, you'll just have to read and find out! Oh, yeah, don't mind if the ages and dates aren't true... I make them up as I go, so things work out better. It's only loosely based on the true story of the Phantom of the Opera.

P.S.-I don't own any of the characters (yet) in this story, it's all just for fun, so don't sue me! I'm poor anyway.

Beginnings

Early dawn had just sent its first tendrils of light cascading over the horizon as a lone dark figure stalked across the cemetery, blending easily with mist and shadow. He gazed silently at the tombstones, noting the cynicism, the irony of their flattering words. Death cares naught for the lamentations of the living, and the figure appeared to know death well. Flashing golden eyes stared into the distance, lost in their own private realm. He stood thus, leaning gently against the cold embrace of a stone angel, for a long time. Snow began to fall, softly, gathering in the folds of his cloak, settling on his long dark lashes, in his thick black hair. The only movement for many minutes was the soft swirl of his warm breath in the chilled morning. Suddenly, cutting through the eerie silence, quiet sobs filled the air around him. Woken from his reverie, he turned quickly, the cloak billowing out around the man, enveloping him in darkness as he searched for the origin of the cries. He stopped abruptly, astonished by what he found; a young girl, at most six or seven, huddled on the ground at the foot of a grave. A monument had recently been placed, and the girl curled upon its base. It read:

Daae - loving father, husband, and violinist of the ages.

Without a sound, he circled behind the frail figure and touched her gently on the shoulder. She whirled to meet his steady gaze, teary eyes dancing wildly, searching his face for a long, tense moment.

"W-who are you? And w-what do you want?" she managed finally to gasp between sobs.

"I am no one, for none care to know me," he replied darkly, his deep voice calm, soothing. "And I mean you no harm." The girl relaxed visibly.

"Why do you wear that thing on your face?" she asked, pointing to the brilliant white mask which hid the right half of his face.

"Ah, child, did your father never teach you not to ask questions in idleness?"

"My father is dead," she whispered, her lucid, deep brown eyes filling with tears again. "As is my mother. Whatever will I do? Who will care for me now?"

"Have you nowhere to go?" he asked, curious. She merely shook her head, her light brown curls swaying an bobbing. "Then you shall have to come with me. What is your name, little one?"

"Christine, monsieur. Christine Daae." He nodded briskly, then picked up the child gently as she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her face into his chest, still crying. "And what is your name, sir?" she mumbled into his black shirt. He stopped suddenly. The girl looked up, surprised at the abrupt lack of movement, and found his gold eyes searching her brown ones. Neither spoke, and his fierce gaze softened. He continued to walk, and answered her finally.

"No one has ever asked me my name. I can hardly recall ever having one. But I remember; it is Erik."

"Erik, my protector," she sighed, and lay back against his chest. She felt strange. She had just lost her father, the only one in the world who had cared for her since her mother's death. She knew she was the one needing rescued, and yet she could not help but feel as though she had to save the strange man carrying her. He was so young, but she could feel that he carried all the sadness of the world. He seemed so alone, just as she had been. Perhaps that is why she already trusted him so deeply. And perhaps that is why, after he had left her, as she grew older, she made herself believe he had been a dream she made up to keep her young mind preoccupied while she sought shelter.

The figure, however, knew none of this. His dark cloak flowed behind him as he walked, offset by the light blue dress the girl wore. He passed a hand across her eyes, and her eyelids fluttered gently as she fell asleep. As the sun rose, burning, into the winter sky, the dark young man made his way into the heart of Paris.

A dark figure stalked the labyrinths deep beneath the Paris Opera House. He paced the floors, seemingly undecided about something. In his arms, he carried a sleeping girl. His black cape swirled around him as he prowled through the dark halls.

"Obviously she can't stay with me," he mused aloud. "They all fear me. And it is unseemly for a girl to be alone with a... young man such as I. But I cannot leave her on her own. Then again, why not? She is not my responsibility." Erik stopped and glared at the girl sleeping peacefully and resting upon his chest. His gaze softened, and he resumed roving the corridors.

"Ah," he muttered as he gained inspiration,"I will give her to the ballet instructor... Madame Giry. She has a daughter about this age, I believe." Saying this, he took a left down a hallway and walked quickly through the darkness, his path illuminated only by a torch every hundred feet. He emerged in front of a set of doors. He headed for the third on the right, and laid the sleeping child in a bundle on the doorstep. Retreating to a storage room, he found parchment, ink, and pen, and composed a note in short, childish writing:

Mme. Giry, you will take this girl and raise her, by my orders. -O.G.

This done, Erik took the paper and laid it on the girl's chest, where it could not possibly be missed. He rapped upon the door, then stepped back and blended into the shadows of the hallway. For a long, tense moment, nothing happened, as shallow torch light flicked golden across the young man's pale face, and fierce golden eyes glowing brighter than the flame. Then, at last, a tired and concerned young woman opened the door. She looked around, bewildered, before her gaze found the sleeping girl. She read the note quickly, glanced around once, then woke the child and took her inside, shutting the door softly behind her.

A black shadow glided out from the darkness of the hall and paced quickly down the corridor in utter silence, turning a corner and vanishing into the new day.