Ok, I have been toying with this idea for a while, and I finally got it put into my computer!

I own nothing!

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February 16, 1870

Erik stumbled blindly through his lair, searching frantically for something he knew he wouldn’t find. He tripped, his foot slipping on the damp rock. As he put out his hands to break his fall, his elbow knocked over a candelabrum, and it tumbled into the lake. His left hand fell on the ivory keys of his organ. It let out an awful chord, and he grimaced at the clashing notes. Muttering incomprehensibly, he gave up his search; he had remembered that he had left his mask on the stage, seven floors above. There was no use going to get it; the fire had probably burned it beyond recognition. Erik was without a mask. He did have a spare, but the little Giry girl had taken it when the mob came.

Stumbling again, he crashed to the ground, hitting his forehead on the stone floor. He felt the spot where his head had made contact, he felt dampness, and his hand came away wet with blood.

“Why do they treat me so?” Erik whispered to himself, staring at his hand. “My blood is as red as theirs.” He knew the answer: his face. It was all because of his face. Even Christine had treated him like he wasn’t human; she had thought he was an angel, but when she saw his face for the first time, she had thought he was a monster.

Why was I cursed with this fate? He thought, still lying on the ground. Despite Christine’s hatred towards him, he still loved her with the whole of his shriveled, scarred heart.

Erik knew he was dying. T was not of illness or injury, but of love. The broken heart he was left with was too much for his body to handle. Violent spasms coursed through him, growing worse each time.

Another seizure racked his body. He didn’t know how long it lasted before he fell unconscious.

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A meow pierced the silence. Opening his eyes, Erik found himself staring into the chocolate and cream face of Ayesha. As he tried to sit up, he coughed hard, and a few flecks of blood dripped onto the damp floor. He pulled himself up, propping his back against the wall. Ayesha climbed into his lap, purring. Erik was breathing heavily as he stroked the Siamese cat. He coughed again to try and clear his windpipe. It helped enough that he could breathe without a rattling sound. Erik tilted his head back and closed his eyes, listening to Ayesha’s gentle purring.

“Poor dear, you really have suffered much.” Startled, Erik’s eyes snapped open and he scanned the room. To his surprise, he found an elderly woman shuffling about, lighting candles. The woman had snow white hair, and her back was hunched over with age. She was clad in a long white robe, similar to what a Roman woman might have worn. Coming over to him, she made a light chirping sound, and Ayesha jumped into her arms with a delighted mew.

“Who are you?” Erik croaked. Normally he would have incorporated his lasso into asking questions, but he was too weak to do anything of the sort.

“I am the Angel of Life,” she replied with a smile, showing a row of crooked teeth. Erik was confused. It must have shown on his face, because the woman laughed.

“Did you honestly think all angels were beautiful?” She shook her head with a sigh. “No, dear. Most are, but I am not.”

“Why?” He couldn’t help but to ask.

“Life is not a pretty thing, Erik. It has its outer horrors, but inside it is as beautiful as any young maiden.” That made sense.

“Why are you here?” he inquired. He put a hand up to his mouth as he coughed again, and he tasted blood.

“My, you are full of questions, aren’t you?” She put Ayesha back on the floor and sat down on the organ bench. “I have come to present you with a choice. I can give you a second chance to redeem yourself and amend your mistakes, or I can allow you to continue on your current path.” Erik’s spirits were immediately lifted. With this opportunity, he could make Christine love him as a person.

“Now keep in mind, what you get might not be what you expect. You have to remember to keep an open mind with this. I cannot simply make everything perfect for you just because you wish it. You have to grant yourself what you want.” Erik’s face fell. It would not be easy. What if Christine wasn’t willing to accept him? The angel chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It isn’t called a second chance for nothing.”

Erik pondered what could come out of this second chance. He could change things for the better, make Christine see that his face didn’t matter. He could convince her to love him. A question broke him from his reverie.

“What?” he said, not having heard the inquiry.

“Do you accept?” the angel repeated. Erik knew that things could turn out either for the better, but there was the chance of it taking a turn for the worst. He would take that chance.

“Yes.”

The angel raised one, there was a flash of light, and his lair faded away before his eyes, and he felt himself tumble into oblivion.

September 3, 1991

Many years later, two children were born. Twins. The first, a girl with raven hair and silvery blue eyes. She cried when she was born, a sure sign that she was healthy. The second, a boy. He, too, had black hair, and his eyes were a darker blue than his sister’s. He was silent when he was born, but soon gave a cry so beautiful that it brought tears to the mother’s eyes.

One of the nurses looked at the two children worriedly, the boy in particular. They had been born early, and the girl’s hands hadn’t finished developing. The boy was normal, but for one exception; his face. The entire right side of his face was marred and twisted, widening the right nostril, and pulling up the lip into what would one day become a permanent grimace.

“Is there anything you can do to correct his face?” the father asked. The nurse shook her head.

“Not just yet. If we were to do something, it couldn’t be until he was older. And even then, I don’t know. You can ask the doctor, but…”

“No,” the mother spoke up. “He reminds me of a character from a story. This shall be who he is, no matter what.” The father sighed. He had wanted a perfect son, but it looked as though he would have to make do with the one he had.

“What do you want to name them?” the father asked almost reluctantly. The mother gazed down at the sleeping infants that now slept in her arms. They should have names that would represent who they would be. The girl should have a name like a song; something beautiful. The boy would have a name that was strong and bold, with a note of mystery.

“Erin.” She whispered the girl’s name. The tiny girl cooed in her sleep. She looked at the boy and stroked his mottled face with her thumb. She murmured the boy’s name…

“Erik.”

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Ok, there's the first chapter!

If any of you have contradictions for my portrayal of the angel, than please keep them to yourselves. This is just how I see her. I'm not saying it's correct, but you don't have to tell me if it's wrong.

Please review, and no flames!