Phantom of the Opera 1. Chapter 1

**(A/N: This is part one of a two part piece. Although based on the 2004 movie, we know the Phantom as Erik. Hope you enjoy!)**

The time had finally presented itself, in one glorious aria that entranced and delighted an audience of cultivated upper-class snobs to the extent of a standing applause. The ethereal beauty of this miraculous voice had soared into the heart of a young Viscomte attending the opera, and revived the soul of a lonely recluse far below the stage.

Her name was Christine, and she was a humble, modest girl who did not recognise the enchantment of her own voice, anymore than she was aware of her flourishing beauty.

But men were more than aware of her graceful form, her wide eyes and wider lips. She was a child, but she was looked upon as a woman.

Pacing restlessly in a shadowy, cobweb-filled passageway, the recluse shut his eyes behind his mask and momentarily allowed himself to relax into the beauty of this heavenly voice, a voice which the musical genius himself had beckoned to life. His patient tutoring of Christine over long years had opened a door within her soul, and released a voice of exquisite beauty.

But there was a catch. A man like he could never simply tutor her face-to-face, oh no. This man barely had a face. And so the entire performance began: the girl mistakenly took his voice to be of an angel's, sent by her dead father, and the lonely man took this opportunity to return, via these lessons, to the world of the living.

It had been years, and the girl still followed her heart and placed her trust blindly in this strange angel that had come to her. But it was no angel that sang to her, listened to her tears and woes time and time again. No, it was merely a man, a man by the name of Erik, whose face was as distorted as the hearts of those who had tormented him in his early years, who had forced him to become a recluse. Forever shunned, but now embraced by this one bereaved girl, there seemed no other option for him than to play along with her fantasy, no matter how deceitful it had to be.

Too long had the lie continued. But now, finally, on this wonderful night, Erik decided that it was time. Time to reveal himself, time to meet his angel in person.

And so Erik made his way to Christine's dressing room after the opera was done, weaving his way through passageways known only to himself. He was the prince of trapdoors, the emperor of secrets and hidden mysteries. It was only to be expected from a man who hid his very face, his being, from the world.

A black cloak swept behind a wall adjacent to the dressing room. The Phantom had heard the voice of a man together with the voice of his beloved Christine. A cold, murderous jealousy narrowed his eyes and caused tremors in his long, bony fingers, tremors which he dispersed by clenching his fists tightly. Who dared to attempt to woo his fair angel? What insolent boy was this, being so bold as to approach his Christine, and distract her from her teacher? For she knew her Erik was coming for her. He came to her after every opera as a rule, to give her a critique of her performance.

Soon, but not soon enough, the man's voice left Christine's dressing room, and Erik, moving silently as only a man with his years of avoiding attention could, strolled up to the door and turned the key. His angel was going to wait for him alone.

Christine returned to tugging at her stubborn curls in consternation, annoyed by the impetuousness of her visitor. She remembered Raoul well; it was just the other day that she was whispering so much to her dear Meg. The young man was charming, and brought back sweet memories of her childhood, but he had not noticed her until he saw her centre stage.

Yet someone had noticed her, taken care of her during those heart-breaking times when she could do nothing but sob for her dear father's departed soul. The one being she could always depend on to distract her with the beautiful music her father had loved, and that she loved, was her angel. She knew very well that it was only a matter of time now before he came, as usual, to comment on the night's performance. And tonight, she knew that he was pleased with his willing pupil.

She had been waiting for quite some time now for the right moment to inquire about the true nature of her teacher's being, for a girl of sixteen had to know deep down that angels did not come down for the solitary purpose of teaching a girl to sing. And what sort of man, her mind enquired, would do so, and keep his identity secret?

Above all things, she longed to finally meet this man. It was not merely her curiosity that compelled her to do thus, either. How could she live not knowing this man who had changed her life? Before she was tutored by her angel, not only was she invisible to all but her dear Madame Giry and Meg, but she was desperately unhappy, lost without her father and his music. Somehow this strange angel had brought the joy back into her life with his ethereal music, and with it, a piece of her father's soul.

Her body was a temple to him, a sacred place of worship and quiet beauty. But her angelic face shone like the very sun, revealing all the beauty below her, while remaining the single source of light and life. She was the sun and he was a mere worm, a cowardly filthy thing to be treated with contempt, or worse, indifference. He did not deserve to be in her presence, let alone gaze at her delicate form, into her innocent eyes, touch her flowing tresses…. But no other man had that right either, and if the girl was to love a man, it should, must, be a man willing to worship her till the end of her days. And he was a man who would give his life for her without hesitation. But he must not allow her to make a mistake, to choose another man. It was time she embraced her fate. Hideous as the fate may be.

From behind the mirror, he finally made his presence known to the unaware girl brushing her hair, thinking herself alone but for her reflection.

Christine started. Although she was expecting her tutor, it was still a shock to hear his beautiful voice coming from nowhere, from no visible form. Her faith was such that she'd never attempted to find hollow spaces behind columns, mirrors perhaps… yet not such that she hadn't thoroughly explored her room before and after her angel's arrival. And it was not just the disembodiment of the voice that made butterflies appear like magic in the pit of her stomach. There was something about the voice that made her feel completely at ease, made her eyes flutter closed for a few seconds, made her involuntarily allow the sound to permeate her soul and douse her body in quiet rapture.

But the feeling of ease dissipated quite quickly on this night, as she realised that her angel was disappointed with her.

Erik shook his head, with the shadow of a smile on his lips as he listened to Christine's hurried flatterings. But it was without the vaguest hint of a smile that he prepared himself for the next step in his plan for the night. A revelation was about to be made, and not just to Christine. What would happen if the girl took one look at him and ran away, or screamed? He'd be left alone once more in his lonely hell, that's what.

The realisation that he just couldn't bare to suffer the painful solitude after how close he had become to a fellow human being served only to make the man more nervous. And the more nervous he became, the more determined he was to impress his angel, and show her a proper man, a man without fear, without doubts, without deformity….

He straightened his mask with sweaty fingers.

"Flattering child you shall know me, see why I hide in the shadows. Look at your face in the mirror: I am there, inside!"

Christine barely noted the condescending tone of her master's voice as she gazed with excitement, and infinite butterflies, the likes of which she had never felt before a performance, upon the heavily gilded mirror at the end of her dressing room. A face appeared; or rather, the shape of a face appeared, but only half the face showed. The other half was covered completely with a strange, white mask.

She stepped towards the mirror, her curiosity overcoming her sudden nervousness. When a black-gloved hand appeared in front of her, coming through the mirror as if by magic, she reached for it without hesitation and followed her master.

Christine's complete trust in him elated Erik beyond anything he'd previously experienced. She was willingly following him, though she must of course have realised who her angel must be: the elusive scapegoat of the opera house, the Phantom of the Opera. And even though the girl must have known of the supposed ill deeds that he was marked as having done, she came with him out of her own free will.

The touch of Christine's hand, even through his black glove, gave Erik a strange thrill that almost frightened him. Nothing affected Erik unless Erik willed it to; nothing but physical contact with this petite girl. He had recently experienced slight tremors during lessons with the girl, but nothing as intense as what he felt now.

The power Christine had given him did not serve to make him feel stronger; no, Erik's confidence quickly fled him the longer he held the hand of his angel. When the time came to lift her onto the horse that would lead them down a deserted street to his lake, he thanked the heavens for his mask, and for the darkness, as he wrapped his hands around her waist and blushed heavily.

Erik had never had any real contact with women. His mother couldn't bear to be in the same room as her deformed son; her one 'kindness' had been to present him with a mask with which he could hide from the world. At the circus, the only woman he ever saw was the bearded lady, and she only ever screeched at him, tormenting him in an effort to improve her own disheartened spirits. He had made physical contact with only one woman before Christine, and that was Madame Giry, before they had even reached their teenage years. And even then it was just a clasping of hands, Madame Giry pulling him away from his tormentors to the haven of the opera house.

Thankfully Christine didn't notice his flush; she was looking back, looking to where they came from, nervous perhaps of the distance they were building between their current position and the familiarity of her dressing room.

Erik looked up and saw her gazing behind, and sighed to himself, beginning to feel the familiar sense of rejection and abandonment. But Christine made no further attempt to stop their journey, staying wide-eyed and amazed by her new surroundings, as Erik rowed them over the lake, and gave a gasp of astonishment when they finally reached the shore, and the beginning of his underground abode.

After he had studied Christine's face very carefully for traces of the damning fear, and had become satisfied of its absence, Erik gained a welcome feeling of confidence and once more began to sing to his angel, hoping to relax her, gain her acceptance maybe…. For she had not yet flinched away from him, nor made any sign to indicate mistrust or fear.

Christine accepted the Phantom's proffered hand, and let herself be helped out of the boat, and onto the shore of an extraordinary island in the middle of a lake she had never before even heard of. She had no idea what was happening to her anymore. Her world had been turned upside down that night; not in any negative fashion, but it was hard to accept that she had believed a falsehood for all these years, that perhaps she had somehow shamed her father's memory by believing that he had sent an angel that turned out to be a mere man.

And yet she felt no shame, no stupidity or ignorance. She did not even hold this enormous lie against the person who had conducted it over the years. Once more, she let that glorious voice flow around her, its intoxicating melody lulling her deeper into a state of consciousness that was more like a dream.

Erik could hardly believe his audacity as he continued to sing to his visibly near-swooning guest. Could his voice have the power to cause Christine's eyes to flicker closed, to tilt her head back, to imprint a look of pure ecstasy on her face? He had never imagined that he could have any such power over a woman. His distorted face had always ensured that the only power he had over people was to inject a mortal fear into their souls.

He knew he should stop. A true gentleman would never be giving Christine the obvious pleasures that she was experiencing at the sound of his song this early in the relationship. And yet he felt himself walking over to her, as if in a dream himself, moving closely behind her, putting his undeserving fingers on the bodice of her beautiful dress, drifting them lightly, yet intensely down and then back up, cupping her breast in his hand for a split second of heaven before grasping her own hand in his and lifting it up to the side of his face unmarked by gruesomeness-

What devilish daring possessed him, to submit his angel to the horror of his face, hidden though the worst was? And yet he continued, gasping silently with the infinite pleasures such contact gave him, ignoring the pangs of guilt he felt for taking advantage of his precious Christine, for she was doubtlessly under some sort of spell he'd managed to weave with his song of seduction.

Struck with a sudden feeling of elation, with an uncontrollable confidence that seized him after Christine's touch, he decided to show her the wonderful vision of her he'd created of their wedding. He guided her over to the veiled place where he kept his most secret, treasured fantasy, and with one swift motion, pulled open the curtains.

Christine was awoken from her surreal state harshly as she realised what her companion was showing her, and fainted, her overwrought mind giving in to the blank numbness of unconsciousness.

Erik was not overly upset by his angel's reaction. He could not be, not when his darling Christine was so innocent and good, and willing. He lay her down in the bed he had bought in case he needed a resting place good enough for his angel, and touched her hair, his hand lingering in adoration. It might take time for her to realise the full potential of what her master was offering her, but she would undoubtedly accept his proposal soon enough.

They had all the time in the world, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N: This is the second half of the story. Hope you enjoy it! And thank you for the reviews- if you haven't reviewed, but like the story, or hate it, or have some sort of reaction to it please tell me, because if I'm going to write more such stories, I need feedback to improve my writing. Besides, I'm self-absorbed and need to know that I'm loved. :))**

Erik remained knelt beside the motionless form of his angel, gazing in adoration upon her perfect facial features. The face was the most important part of a person's body to Erik; people had shunned him, been afraid of him all of his life because of his misshapen face. Christine had experienced the exact opposite repercussions because of her beauty, and the Phantom unconsciously yearned for such grace, such acceptance- and the closest he could get to anything like acceptance was with Christine, through Christine.

As the minutes slowly ticked by, Erik stayed there, momentarily at peace. But suddenly, suddenly, looking down upon such exquisite beauty, he remembered that he had no right to mar her perfection, no right to tarnish her innocence.

He drew back in horror, staggering a few steps away from where she slept, hands grabbing at his face as he remembered just who he was, and what he had done to his poor Christine.

He had taken away some of her angelic innocence! The hands of a fully grown man had touched her body, had received pleasure from her gasps and sighs, as she reacted to this contact willingly, forgetting her place, her position- maybe even who she was with!

Erik cursed silently, damning the way he had deliberately given way to temptation. The girl was only sixteen! She was but a child, and he had placed his filthy, undeserving hands on her pure body, tainting her goodness.

What a devil he was, to have sung a song of such obvious seduction! Christine would not understand, in her naive innocence, what she had let Erik start to do. It was purely his fault.

Erik tore his eyes away from the sight of the swan bed and forced himself to walk, stiltedly, towards his organ. He would compose more of his requiem, a piece he only touched when punishing himself for crimes that his conscience could not bear.

But as he sat on his hard, unforgiving piano stool and stared formidably at the sheet music on his stand, the red notes drifted together as he lost concentration, and he experienced a blistering headache that he made no attempt to subside. A worm like him did not deserve relief.

Christine drifted into consciousness slowly and luxuriously, having forgotten the recent events she had experienced while she slept. She rolled over slightly, murmuring softly to herself, and lifted one lazy hand up to her head to sweep a curtain of hair out of her eyes. But as she removed her hair, she suddenly noted the stiff smoothness of the sheets she was lying on, like sheets that had never before been used. Instead of the one meagre pillow she generally slept upon, her head was supported by two, and there were no coverings on top of her dress.

Her brain suddenly leapt into action, and she raised her head hurriedly, blinking quickly to remove the sleep from her eyes, and stared at the strange cavernous place around her.

She clambered out of the swan bed and stood next to it, smoothing her skirts nervously. Around a corner, up a few steps, she caught a glimpse of the glittering surface of the lake, reflecting the light from the candles distortedly with its ripples.

_A lake,_ she thought, remembering something about it with difficulty. _A boat... _And there it was, a little boat pulled up to the shore, surrounded by tiny stones and rocked gently by the lapping water. She slowly walked towards the boat, her eyes narrowed in concentration, her hands still clutching at her skirts in nervous anticipation. _In the boat... there was a man._

A man. Her eyes darted quickly up the shore, and found the man, her angel, the Phantom of the Opera. And he was only a man. He was no angel, but he had helped her to survive the most difficult part of her life with his music, and his ever-patient words. He had always been there for her. Yet he was not sent by her father...

She walked more steadily towards this man now, her need for answers to her endless questions overcoming her usual meek and timid composure and better judgement. She stopped just behind his piano stool and paused for a moment, unsure of what she was about to do. But once again, she could not stand not knowing, and she gently reached around the man's head and was about to lift the mask when...

Erik lifted his head from where he was cradling it in his hands, his sharp ears hearing the definite sound of movement from the room in which he had left Christine. What was he to do now?

He remained motionless as he began to hear the unbelievable sound of footsteps approaching him. He had been sure she was going to attempt to run away, or even try to drown herself in his lake. But what was happening now? Was she coming up to him in order to scream at him, or slap him, or punish him in some other way for destroying her purity?

His blood was pounding in his ears now, apprehension building quickly to a climax, and as he heard Christine's footsteps stop behind him, his shoulders quivered with expectation and fear. But as the whisper of a hand passed by his ear, something within him broke free of its fear-stricken chains. He tore his eyes from the notes in front of him and turned almost violently to stare at the girl standing behind him, her hands almost touching his face.

Christine jumped slightly, removing her hands immediately, not only because of fear, but also because of a tiny niggling sense of shame she was feeling, shame that turned into embarrassment when she knew he had caught her poised to take off his mask and quench her maddening curiosity. She shifted uncomfortably, unable to withdraw her gaze from that of the Phantom. She parted her lips slightly, not knowing what to say, and distinctly heard the man before her take a sudden inward breath. His gaze never lifted though; his eyes merely widened slightly, and he sat up a little straighter.

Christine stopped her shifting when she heard the sudden breath taken by her mysterious companion. A thrill raced up her body and a flush darkened her pale cheeks slightly, barely visible by the dim candlelight, but still obvious. She lowered her eyes with embarrassment, but could still feel the eyes of the Phantom boring into her very soul. She felt completely revealed, naked to his gaze- and at last she could bear it no longer. She lifted her head slowly and looked directly into the eyes of her erstwhile angel, and finally asked the one question that managed to clamber past her defences and out of her mouth.

"What is your name?"

It was Erik's turn to divert his eyes, at a loss of what to say. He almost had to search around for the answer; no one had ever asked him this rudimentary question before. But there was an answer, and he stared unfocussed at the floor as he answered the question.

"My name is Erik."

The poor man was completely perplexed by the behaviour of this girl before him. Why was his angel wasting her time asking him questions, when all that mattered was her? No one cared for Erik- no one asked him personal questions, no one dared to! But they had never even tried.

He turned his head away, confused as to what his behaviour should be like after the unexpected question. He had a vague feeling that he should be asking Christine something in return, out of common courtesy, but he already knew all the important facts about his angel. He'd made it his business to inquire indirectly about her every detail after becoming bewitched by her beauty. And so the legendary monster with the face of the devil turned away, empty of courage and full of self-doubt. He didn't even know what he was doing anymore.

Christine closed her eyes at the sound of voice, rough and uncertain as it was, involuntarily, because of the memory of the beauty it was capable of. _Erik..._ she repeated silently in her mind, matching it to the man and voice. He was indeed a man, a man with a name like any other, not just a phantom with no identity. Or an angel with no identity. And it was the thought of her newly reformed angel that tormented her mind with more questions of desperate intensity.

She gazed around the room that the two occupied, searching for clues with which she might be able to decrypt the mystery of this strange creature before her, who somehow drew such waves of pity from her for his broken soul that she felt like collapsing on the floor with the heartbreak of it all. And yet it was not purely pity which was clouding her mind so intensely; the familiarity of this person, man or angel, remained strong and true, and she felt something very much akin to... _affection_ for Erik.

Her eyes suddenly caught on a welcome distraction from her thoughts, an unexpected sight in a room such as this. The room was furnished very richly, with velvet curtains and handsome furniture, but contained a curious number of full-sized mirrors, even for a room in an opera house. The strange thing about these mirrors was that they were all covered by dark cloths, hiding the mirroring glass and thus rendering them utterly pointless.

Christine gazed at the covered mirrors uncertainly for a moment, and then returned her eyes to rest on Erik and his mask... and suddenly she remembered the stories that she had been told since she had arrived at the famous opera house, hideous tales of a man possessing a face so ugly that the mere sight of it was enough to kill the viewer. She was suddenly filled with compassion and understanding, and with contempt for those that had spread the rumours around for years, and dropped to her knees beside her companion, who was still refusing to look at her.

The girl gently, gently, reached out once more and placed her hand on the side of his face uncovered by the mask. She drew his resisting face to the level of her own, and insistently stared at him harshly, refusing to allow him to avoid her gaze for another moment. She carefully avoided his mask with her fingers, somehow understanding that Erik needed the privacy, that it would take more than a few hours to overcome the years of cruel taunting that had made him profoundly ashamed of his twisted features.

As he reluctantly met her gaze, Christine was shocked to see a tear in the corner of his eye. She could feel him trembling under her hand, but in anger or fear or some other instinctive emotion, she did not know. She warmed the blue ice in his eyes with her concerned look, and the honesty and caring in her actions warmed his heart.

She hardly knew what she was doing anymore, kneeling before her former master, her untouchable angel for years, who had suddenly become a tragic figure of pity and inexplicable intrigue in the space of hours. Willingly submitting to some uncontrollable inner force, she gradually, almost unaware of her actions, inched towards Erik's hypnotising stare, fluttering her eyes closed and parting her lips very slightly, undeniably preparing herself for her first kiss.

Erik's eyes widened in amazement, his breath quickening with every millimetre closed between him and his angelic Christine. What was she doing? He wasn't even singing to her, and she was giving herself to him, intentionally, of her own free accord!

What was he to do? For he'd certainly never been in this situation before. No girl had ever looked upon him without a mortal fear in her eyes, let alone tried to kiss him. His own mother never kissed him as mothers do, on the forehead, the horror of his face deleting all traces of familial love for her son. He tensed, deciding wildly to turn away in confusion, not wanting to harm his perfect Christine, to taint her purity any more than he already had, but Christine's hand, still resting on the normal side of his face, stubbornly prevented any refusal, and he stayed motionless, disbelieving, as her lips reached his.

His breath caught in his throat at the ecstasy of the moment, and he closed his eyes tightly for a moment, savouring the sweet impossibility of the situation. Forcing his eyelids apart for fear of losing himself completely in the moment, he saw only Christine, and shut his eyes again, calmly this time, knowing that it was not a dream, that this was no hellish torment dished out by the devil, that it was truly happening.

With this peace and utter happiness of mind, he finally surrendered himself to the beauty of the reality of that night.


End file.
