Phantom of the Opera A Dream Come True

"A Dream Come True"

I bang my hands on the keys of my organ. Why can't I do anything right? My muse seems to have escaped me tonight. I sigh wearily and drudge into my depressing cavern of a bedroom. I plop down onto the side of the bed ungracefully and put my face in my hands. I lift my head up again, and reach up for my mask shakily. I gently and slowly lift it off and set it next to me. I put my face down once again, warming it with the unblemished flesh of my hands. I run my hands over the many crevices and deformities, but don't pay much attention. I am used to it by now. I must be, or I shall go completely and utterly insane.

Despite this, I must admit that I have indeed questioned my sanity several times lately. Questioned the absolute insanity of falling for an angel when I have accepted the fact that I am a demon. Christine is undoubtedly the most beautiful young woman I have laid eyes upon. And I would know- I am a connoisseur of beauty, so lacking in it myself. She is light, I am dark. She is beauty, I am ugliness. She is kind, I am cruel… Yet I do not feel cruel when I am with her. I want to lavish her with tenderness and love.

I lay down on the bed, crossing my arms under my head. My elbow bumps into my mask and I throw it aside. I lament the fact that I have never shown myself to Christine. For all she knows, I am an unseen angel, speaking from above. I want to show myself to her. But I know that is impossible. If that happens, I will never see her again. And that is just if I finally approach her. God forbid she ever sees my actual face! No, I must be satisfied with my unrequited love, passion, and ever-adoring gaze. I pull up the covers, curl into a ball, and fall asleep with images of Christine flitting through my mind.

I waken, but I do not open my eyes. I can see bright sunlight through my eyelids. What the hell… I hate the sunlight. Why there even _is_ sunlight in my underground home, I can't imagine. I throw my arm over my eyes and open them a tiny bit, still squinting. After a few moments, I lower my arm and open my eyes more. Then, my eyes widen in shock. Why the hell is there a _white_ carved ceiling above me? I sit up and am immediately faced with a gold-gilded mirror on the opposite wall. I instinctively cover my head with my arms, screwing my eyes shut, burying my chin into my chest.

Then my eyes widen again. I don't move for a full thirty seconds, then slowly lower my arms and lift my head. My gaze meets that of an almost beautifully handsome man. I cock my head to the right, and his head follows mine. I lift my arms, wave them above my head, drop them, nod my head, shake my head- and his movements all follow mine! I get out of the luxurious white lace-covered bed and walk to the mirror. I run my hands over my face. There are no bumps! No gorges! No _deformities!_ I run my hands through my thick hair. It is shorter than I usually wear it, the better to show off my new face.

No sooner than when I finally accept that this handsome man is in fact _me_, I hear a rustling coming from the bed. I whirl around and my jaw drops. Christine is in the bed. Christine! My love, Christine! She sits up, exposing a beautiful, full breast and smiles at me. She lifts her arms to me. "Darling husband, come back to bed. It's early yet." I pause for a few seconds, figure what the hell, then sprint to the bed. I throw myself into her arms, pushing her back among the plush pillows. She laughs in joy- _joy!- _and wraps her creamy arms around me tighter. "You are quite enthusiastic this morning, my love."

I look into her eyes. "Say it again." My voice is pleading and almost breaking. She looks at me in amusement, questioning me. "Say you love me," I repeat.

"I love you more than I treasure my own life, Erik. You know that."

I give her a watery smile. "Not nearly as much as I love you." She raises one elegant eyebrow at me and proceeds to pull my head down by my hair and kiss me senseless. After a microsecond, I respond with much fervor. After all, I _have_ imagined this at least a million times before in my mind. She lifts her hands to my face and strokes my cheek while nipping at my lips with her pearly little teeth. My eyes water while I turn my face into her hand and nuzzle it. I stroke her lovely golden curls and move my mouth down to her neck, then to her breast.

The instant my mouth captures her, she gasps and arches up. After some time, I proceed to lavish her other breast. As I move my way down, she clutches me to her by grasping my hair. I accomplish my goal in her forbidden region with her shuddering climax. She lies limply on the bed, panting, while I look at her with wonder and astonishment. Who would ever guess that a woman could achieve such a thing from my touch?

After a few moments of trying to catch her breath, Christine opens her eyes and gives me a smile filled with so much love that my heart seems likely to burst. "Erik," she murmurs, "I need you inside me." And what can I do for my Lady Love but oblige her? The moment I enter her, I realize she is ready for me, her passion renewed. My eyes drift closed as her body enveloped me tightly. She captures my mouth with her own again and we mimic the movements our bodies are making with our tongues.

As I begin to reach Heaven, I lift my head up and look deeply into Christine's eyes. "I love you," I gasp.

"I love you, too." She caresses my cheek.

I pause in my movements, and Christine whimpers in protest. "Tell me you won't leave me. Tell me you'll never leave me alone. Be with me always."

"I'll never leave you." She gives me a quick but loving kiss.

And I renew my previous movements with vigor and desperation. Just as I reach my pinnacle, my eyes drift closed in ecstasy. Then my vision behind my eyelids shatters. I see fireworks and can hear Christine's whispers of love in my ear. I fall on her, roll off of her, and lie unmoving. I smile lazily and open my eyes. I cry out. I see the sheer black canopy above my bed, under the ceiling of my underground cave.

I sit up and desperately look all around me. Christine is gone! The room is gone! I frantically rub my hands over my face. I am deformed again! But I don't care. I jump out of bed and run around my bedroom. I look everywhere for Christine, but I know it is useless. It was all a dream. But no! It was _not_! I can still feel the after-effects of our passion. I can still hear her whispers of love. I can still feel her hands on my face. My _face_… But surprisingly, shocking myself, I don't care about that as much as I care about the loss of my Love. I sink back onto the bed and curl up, hugging my knees as my body is wracked with violent, pathetic sobs.

My footsteps are ominous and unusually loud. I trudge along the stone passageway leading to Christine's room, thinking I am indeed insane for visiting her tonight. My heart literally aches and my body now stirs at just the thought of her. It is degrading- pathetic! I approach the mirror and see her brushing out her long golden hair. The hair which I now know for a fact is as soft as silk. I struggle to suppress a painful groan, biting my bottom lip painfully. I want so much to reach out and stroke that hair again. I satisfy myself with putting my hand on the mirror. A wretched excuse for a lover's caress.

She rises from the dressing table and walks over to the mirror behind which I lurk. She studies her image in the full mirror then turns and looks up. I could swear I saw tears swimming in her mesmerizing violet eyes before she turned away. Now she seems to be studying every crevice and corner of the ceiling and upper walls. "Angel," she whispers. "Angel? Are you there?"

Ah, she is looking for a hint of her Angel of Music, then. But she will never get a glimpse of him. "Yes, Christine. I am here." She will, of course, hear the mysteriously soft yet deep voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. "Why is it that you cry? Has someone upset you?"

"No… Yes… I don't suppose it's actually some_one_. I had a disturbing dream last night. Actually, it was a wonderful dream. Fantastic beyond words. But I was so unhappy when it ended. I know this sounds silly, but I wished that I could go back to it and never wake up."

"Do not ever wish that, Christine," I say sternly. "There are many people who would miss you if that were to happen."

Christine smiles slightly. "Yes, Angel." Her innocent, youthful face takes on a pensive look. "Angel… please… I have tried so hard to be obedient, and I have never disobeyed you. But could I please see you? I'll never ask another thing of you again."

"No, my child. I am afraid not." I almost laugh at my obscene use of the word _child_. I could never again in my life think of my passionate Christine as a child. But I am far too depressed to laugh. Instead I yearn for the possibility of showing myself to Christine. I ache to- it is almost a compulsion. Yet I know that I cannot. Her ultimate feelings toward me would be repulsion and disgust. Abhorrence and loathing. I must be satisfied with speaking to her through an invisible barrier, heard but not seen.

Christine chokes out a sob. I suddenly realize that she has been silently sobbing on the floor while I have been mulling over my problems. I instantly feel a stab of remorse. "Christine, my dear. Do not cry. You may not see me, but I will never leave you." This seems to have stricken a cord in her. She sits up straight and wipes her eyes. It is too bad that she could never honestly return that promise.

"Tell me you'll never leave me alone," she whispers.

"Never," I somehow get past the thickness in my throat. I realize too late that in my emotional anguish I did not bother to disguise my location with my vocal talents. Christine instantly jumps up and looks around at the mirror. She takes a few quick, fervent steps toward me, but then slows down. Her last few steps are halting and nervous.

"Angel?" she asks shakily. I cannot answer. I cannot move. Perhaps she will not find the secret latch. But of course, she reaches up to the mirror, and the first thing she touches is the latch that opens the mirror-door. Fate has a way of tormenting me, after all. The mirror swings inward and I move out of the way, so as not to be hit. I try to move into the shadows.

I know that Christine can not see me now, as her eyes are still adjusting to the darkness. I can see her clearly. She is squinting her eyes, trying to discern my darkness from the natural darkness. My clothes are black, so she might not have made me out at all, if it weren't for the damned mask. The white porcelain is like a beacon, drawing one's attention straight to it. I think I had it made like that on purpose. I really don't remember now. I try not to think about it too much.

I can see the exact moment that her eyes fall on my face. It is not just her eyes that I can see changing, but her expression also gives it away. It's always the expression. Hers is not really any different from anyone else's. Shock. And horror. But then it changes again. "E-Erik?" she whispers. I am shocked; I actually jump back from her.

"How do you know my name?" I know my voice is menacing. Soft, but wary. She looks at me with something akin to affection. Apparently my warning tone has no effect on her now that she has seen me. Perhaps she thinks herself above me.

"It _is_ you. I knew when I woke up this morning that I had heard your voice somewhere before. Then, while I was brushing my hair, it came to me." Her voice becomes excited. "You are the man in my dream. I _know_ you." Then she blushes. I can't help but wonder if that blush indicates that she had the same dream as I. How strange… strange, but astonishing.

Now I remember the temporarily overlooked detail on my part. "My dear, whatever you remember from this dream, you do not know me as you think you do. Not the real me, at least. Of this, I can assure you."

"No, I do. You are exactly the same." I raise my right eyebrow- not that she can see this, of course. "Your hair is the same, a bit longer maybe. Your hands are the same strong, graceful hands I know so well now." She blushes again. "You are just as tall as I knew you would be, built just the same."

I simply close my eyes and sigh. My Christine seems very sure of herself. It will be very hard to convince her otherwise without disgusting her. "I am very sorry, _ma Cherie_, but I am not the same man of which you seem to be thinking."

"No, you are!" She is now becoming frantic, as well as aggravated. "You are the man in my dream! You are my Angel, and my Erik. And I love both sides of you!"

Again, I am utterly stunned. But I still attempt to discourage her child-like fantasy of me. "You do not know the _real_ me, Christine. You cannot love what you do not know. I have dreamed this same dream you speak of, and believe me when I tell you that this man was not _me_."

"But it _was_ you! I _know_ it! You essentially admitted it when you said that you had this dream as well. The only difference… Now you… you are wearing a mask. Why do you hide from me, Erik?"

I ignore the last question. "Exactly. I am wearing a mask." I speak firmly and matter-of-factly. "Therefore, you cannot know that I am this man, since you have not seen my face." Christine now glares at me. Apparently discovering that I am not an angel has made her bold. I am caught completely unaware as her hand shoots up toward my face. "Christine, no!"

But my shout is left unheard. By the time my words die on the air, my mask is off. She is so quick. Her reflexes are much better than I give her credit for. There is not much I can do to prevent the sequence of events now underway. I will not push her away; I would never hurt my Angel. So the moment after I feel the first cold fingers of stale air touch my face, I spin around, spreading my hands over my pitiful features. Of course I am too late, though- I was almost too shocked to react at all! As I run back down the passageway, I can hear her appalled cry echoing in my ears.

_Mon Dieu_, the agony! My heart is being torn in two. I let go of my face and clutch my chest. I stop and lean against a cold, damp wall. I am usually able to run for a long time, quite quickly. But my heart… it almost feels like what I imagine a heart attack feels like. But I know that Fate will never be that kind. My mind is not at all dizzy; what a relief that would be. No, my mind is racing and tormented. Every thought that runs through my head makes my heart ache even more.

Oh, Christine! Why did you betray me? I gave you everything! And I know, in the end, I will give you my life. For now, I have no reason to live. Perhaps I seem melodramatic, but every reason I might have had to live has flown away out of my grasp.

But wait. What is that? Oh, God- footsteps! Someone has found me! Maybe… but no, it _cannot_ be Christine. After all, why would she come after a monster? Surely she ran in the opposite direction. "Angel! Erik!" I lift my head. It _is_ Christine! Her bell-like voice reaches out to me through the dark. The pounding, desperate footsteps come closer. She sounds as if she is running. Could she have come after me? Has she come to save me? No! She is back to get a second look! She cannot believe what she saw the first time, and has come to feast her eyes on the travesty of what she imagined was her love.

I hear her approach the last corner behind which I wait. I pull myself up to my full height, ready to confront her and give her what she wants. A good laugh, perhaps. She rounds the corner and comes face to chest with me. She almost barrels right into me, but draws back in the last instant before touching me. What else could I have expected? I hold back an irritated yet wounded sigh.

She backs up a step or two and clutches my mask to her breast. She slowly raises her face to mine. I can see the tears swimming in her eyes and streaming down her lovely, pale, unblemished face. She meets my eyes and sniffles. She has locked her eyes on mine, probably too frightened to look anywhere else. "Well?" I demand in a cold voice. Truly, I just want to pull her into my loving embrace and make her forget my face, but I do not dare. "Have you satisfied your vulgar curiosity, Miss Daae?" Her eyes widen with hurt, but I only lash out in defense and upset. She doesn't answer, frozen in terror, and I am angered. I lean down and press my face within inches of hers. _Still,_ she does not remove her eyes from my own.

"Look! Look at me!" The girl refuses to obey! I reach down and grab her hands, forcing her to drop the mask. Although I am hurt and angry, I take care with her delicate hands. I press them to my face, one on each cheek. I bear down on her hands, forcibly but gently. "If you will not look, then _feel!_ Feel the face you so lovingly caressed last night! Then, it was smooth and perfect. Beautiful!" I know that I am forcing her hands on my face, but it still affects me. The feel of her hands on my deformity breaks me. I am ashamed- I start to cry in her presence. I am a pathetic creature, wracked with silent sobs. I fling both of our hands away and turn, covering my face with my own hands this time.

Just as I take a stumbling step back down the passageway, I feel a soft hand on my shoulder. "Erik," she chokes, "Oh, Erik… my Love," she whispers. I halt and I can feel my shoulders and back stiffening. Keeping her hand on my arm to stay me, she comes around to face me. She lowers my hands and finally searches my face. Her already wet eyes fill up again. She wipes away her tears carelessly. Her hands slowly come up to touch my face. I can hardly feel anything but the lightest touch of a feather. She closes my eyes with a stroke on my eyelids. Before I can do anything but take a breath, I feel her warm soft lips gently pressing against mine. I moan and wrap my arms around her. She caresses one cheek while running her other hand through my hair just like the night before. She opens her mouth and proceeds to kiss me with a desperation that shocks me. "You said you would never leave me," she murmurs against my lips.

"I must leave you before you leave me," I respond sadly. She pulls back a bit and looks me in the eye.

"I told you last night that I will never leave you. I do not go back on my promises."

"I cannot hold you to a promise made to a different man."

"Oh, Erik. You _are_ that man. How else would I know your name? How else would you know of my dream? Because you were there. It was you."

My heart contracts and I look away. "Yes, I was there. It was I who made love to you." I glance back and see her blushing again. "But… I am not _really_ that man… Truly, I don't think I _am_ a man," I end in a whisper. Christine makes an inquisitive noise and I turn away and laugh humorlessly. "Surely you can see… I am not a man, but a monster."

"I know you are a man. A monster cannot love. And I know that you love me… and that I love you."

"Even if you truly do, I could never force you to make love with the true me. Or spend your life with me. It would be at odds with nature."

"No, being with the one you love for the rest of your life is what is right. I want to be with you forever. I promised to never leave you, as did you. I want to marry you, be married to you,…" she lowers her voice to a whisper, "and reenact last night, every night, until the day we die."

"Good God, woman."

She giggles, then grows solemn. "Come into the light with me, Erik. Let us be happy. Let us live in our home I saw last night… Ask me to marry you." I hesitate for a few moments. How do I know she won't grow tired of me? How do I know she won't cringe when I enter her? How do I know she won't grow to hate this face? But when I see her face fall after a few moments of silence on my part, I make up my mind.

"Marry me, Christine?" She throws her arms around me in response and kisses me again. I hold on to her tightly and vow to myself that I will never leave or let her go.

1 Year Later

I hold my child in my arms and know that I am the luckiest man in the world. Dominique is the most beautiful child I have ever laid eyes upon. She has not a blemish on her face. Her hair is black like mine, and her eyes violet like her mother's. They have not changed in the few months since she was born, so I know this is her real eye color. She smiles at me and reaches up her tiny arms, grasping at the air with her tiny fingers. I place my finger in her hand, and she tugs on it. I cannot help but smile back at her. I am still astounded that she does not seem to even notice my deformities. I am very grateful since Christine refuses to let me wear a mask in our home.

"Erik, dear?"

"I'm in the nursery." She glides through the door and smiles fondly at the sight before her. She loves how I dote on our child. She comes over to me and wraps her arms around my waist. She lifts herself up on her tip-toes and gives me a loving peck on my lips. She then leans over and gives Dominique a loud, sloppy raspberry. She gurgles and Christine and I both smile at her. "It's time to set her down for the night, dear." I frown, but comply to her motherly instincts and schedules.

After several minutes of a softly sung duet, Dominique finally settles into a peaceful slumber. I wrap my arms around my wife's shoulders and lead her out of the room. We both cannot seem to bear not touching each other for long periods of time. After silently closing the nursery door, I turn to Christine and give her an affectionate smile. "Let us go to bed, Angel. However, I am in the mood for originality this evening, not a reenactment." My smile turns mischievous and she laughs softly and races past me for the bedroom. Before the threshold, she turns back, smiles impishly, then enters the room saucily. I immediately race after her, grinning widely. My life is wonderful.


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Angst, Romance