His Wandering Child (Rewritten)

Chapter 1

"Who knows how high those mountains climb?
Who knows how deep those rivers flow?
I know he's there; that's all I need to know."

-Ti Moune, Once On This Island, Steve Marzullo

*****

Edited

Erik walked down the cold, dark street, watching as shadowy figures darted across his vision. Hopefully, this would be the last time he left the manor this month. He had gone into the city to retrieve something from the ruins of the Opera Populaire. A violin.

People rushed by him with little more than passing glances. They feared him, he knew. Almost everyone in Paris was aware of his existence. But here, in the outskirts of the city, he was simply a legend. No one was certain of his true identity, but they all had their own little stories about him.

He pulled his hood over his face. It gave him a feeling of security, similar to his mask, but much more so.

How long had it been since he had last seen her?

It only took him a second to answer.

Two years. Two lonely years. Yet it seemed like only yesterday when he had gazed upon her beautiful face. The memory of Christine remained fresh in his mind, always and forever, he was certain. But she had abandoned him for the Vicomte. She had made very clear her feelings for him.

Even in his anger, he couldn't let go of her. Not yet.

Erik rushed by a small figure wearing a threadbare hood, curled up in the darkness. Small eyes stared at him through the shadows and it stood to confront him.

"Monsieur?" asked a childlike, female voice.

"Stay away, child." Erik muttered, glancing back at her for a moment and catching sight of her pale hands.

He heard little feet behind him, pattering against the stones.

"Monsieur, I've been looking for you!" this time it was a shout.

Erik looked behind him, watching the small girl follow him. Were they recruiting children into the police force now? He chuckled to himself and continued on.

"Wait!" cried the timid girl.

He heard her cry out and slip.

Erik whirled around to face her.

The small child was crying, trying to push herself up against the frozen ground.

"Child, what are you doing?" Erik asked, standing over her.

She pulled back her hood. Brown curls cascaded down to her shoulders. Deep brown eyes stared at him through long lashes, her skin almost as pale as snow. The cloak fell off her shoulders and revealed a modest dress that hung loosely around her frame, showing signs of malnourishment. Pity welled deep in Erik's heart. Such a child did not deserve the dirt on her face nor the cuts on her arms.

"Is it you?" she sniffled, rubbing her tears from her eyes.

Erik frowned. "What do you mean?"

The girl shivered. "You look like... like him..."

"What?" he asked.

The girl stared up at him. "Don't you recognize me, Angel?"

Erik's jaw dropped.

No... that had been.... that was a dream...