Phantom of the Opera 1. Taking a Chance

This is my first phic. Constructive critism always welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera or Romeo and Juliet in any way. Too bad, so sad.

* * *

"Erik, please show me. I wish to see the face of the man I love."

Isabelle reached her hand forward to grasp her lover's hand. Candlelight illuminated the couple, sending shadows dancing across the man's mask. Golden curls framed her smiling face. She had known him for almost known him for two years now, not once seeing him without his mask. She wistfully dreamed of what his face might look like. With such a melodic voice, how could he not have a attractive face as well? His voice was like an angel sent from heaven to her. Yes, that was it, she mused. He must have such a beautiful face, that not just anyone could look upon it. She smiled at the thought, and continued to look imploringly into his eyes.

Across from her, Erik Dupont set his eyes downcast, frantically wondering what he should do.

_Dare I show her?_ He thought. _Could she love me?_

Erik lifted his amber eyes to her own. He could see the pleading in their hazel depths. Yet still he struggled. His whole life he had been shunned; it would be too sweet a dream for this woman to accept him. His own family, the DuPont's, preferred to pretend that he didn't exist. He had brought havoc upon his family; it was because of him that the Daaes' despised them. The Daaes' believed such a monstrosity should have been killed before it could take its first breath, and resented the DuPont's for not doing so.

Isabelle deserved so much more than his rotting carcass. She deserved the angel that she hoped to find under his mask. He knew he wouldn't survive her rejection. If she screamed, he would not leave this ivy-laden courtyard with his soul. Yet as he looked into her gorgeous eyes, he knew he couldn't deny her. He freed his hands from her's, and moved to untie the knot resting on the back of his head. He moved slowly, silently giving her a chance to stop him. She didn't. Erik took a deep breath as he dropped the mask. At first, he dared not look into her eyes. After a moment of silence, he snuck a glance at her, and immediately wished that he hadn't. She gazed at him in horror, her mouth agape, as if wanting to scream but not having the ability to. With his eyes, he silently prayed that she wouldn't scream. However, she could not see his unspoken plea, and regained use of her voice. Her shriek pierced the night, and shattered the heart of the man before her.

Above them, a beautiful young woman sat at her vanity staring into nothingness. She glanced out her window alarmed, when she heard the scream. Thinking someone was in trouble she ran to her balcony, and leaned far over the railing, squinting in the darkness. She could see a young woman with gold hair running from a crouching figure that sat on a bench. Seeing the leaning figure, she lost all interest in the wailing girl. Though he made no sound, she could tell he was miserable. She watched with sad eyes as he crumpled to the ground, hanging his head as he cried. After a moment, he composed himself, and reached out for something lying on the ground. She watched as he placed the object on his face, tying it in place. He got of the ground, and stood there, almost as if he didn't know what to do. After a moment, he began to walk away from her eyesight. She was about to call out to him, when she heard the screeching voice of her nurse calling out behind her.

"CHRISTINE ELISE DAAE! COME INSIDE THIS INSTANT, BEFORE YOU CATCH YOUR DEATH!"

Christine jumped at the force of her nurse's demand, and turned to face the angry woman. When she glanced back at the courtyard beneath her, her mysterious man was no where in sight. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and made her way back to her room. With one last glance at the courtyard, she disappeared into her room to find her nurse tapping her foot impatiently.

"Your mother wishes to have a word with you, ma'am." Antoinette informed her.

Christine nodded her head and followed Antoinette out of her bedroom and down the hallway to the drawing room. Christine found her mind drifting away as she gazed lazily at the ornate designs of the ceiling. The Daae family had not always been so wealthy. Her ancestors had started out as musicians on the country side, fiddling and singing their way to their next meal. All of that changed when they came to Paris. After becoming extremely successful at the Opera Garnier, the Daae's decided to leave the stage, and became patrons to the opera house. Since then, no Daae had performed onstage. The thought saddened Christine. Singing was her passion, and she only wished that someday she might sway her parents into permitting her to return their family to the spotlight.

A light cough shook Christine from her thoughts, and she found herself standing in front of the grand oak door. O, how she despised this door. Every time her mother had a new order for her, she was once again brought to it. Her reflection in the shiny door knob mocked her, taunted her. It took all of her strength not to just turn around and run forever. As much as it hurt to admit it though, she couldn't leave. She had nowhere to go. With a heavy heart, she reluctantly walked into the room.

An elegant woman wearing fine and sipping tea lifted her head as Christine entered. Anne Daae gave her daughter a distasteful look. If only she had a more obedient daughter! Christine was always going on about nonsense, like singing. She should be focusing on marrying a good man, not dreaming away all day! Anne set her tea down and invited her daughter to join her in the chair opposite to her.

"Christine, I have wonderful news for you." She said with a sweet smile.

'_You're not my real mother?' _Christine thought hopefully

"A man wishes for your hand in marriage; the Vicomte de Chagny!"

Christine felt as though someone had spilled a bucket of ice water on her. She was numb all over. Marriage, to many people, meant the start of something grand. To her, it was the end of everything. There would be no chance at real love, a career in opera, or traveling the world. Everything she had ever dreamed about or wanted for her life would never happen. Of course, the Vicomte was asking for her permission. However, she knew that her parents would give her away without her consent. There was no use fighting it. Her parents would disown her if she dared defy them. She swallowed her tears and faked a smile of joy.

"That's wonderful, mère! When will I meet him?" she managed to say.

Anne let out a sigh of relief. The girl wasn't going to fight her on this. "At tomorrow night's masquerade ball. So, we must be sure that you look your best! How about that lovely pink gown you have? You'll look like a fairy princess!"

Christine forced a smile, secretly blanching at the prospect of wearing that horrid thing.

"I look forward to it", she said, rising from her seat. She gave a small curtsy, and walked back to her room. She smirked as she thought about what she would be wearing to the ball. _'She wants me to be a princess? Well, I was thinking more along the lines of Spanish seductress…I can defy her in at least one way.'_

* * *

Please review, and let me know if I should continue.


	2. Brandy

I cannot begin to describe how excited I was to find that I had 7 good reviews. It's not a lot, but on a first chapter for _me_, that's awesome. I remember my first review on this site ever was 'wtf?!'. The story was deleted. lol. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Erik entered his home and sighed. He should have known that Isabelle would react the way she did. Who could ever love someone like him? He was hideous, a walking corpse.

He slammed the door angrily. As he walked towards his study, he could still hear the voice of that wretched woman at the opera house.

_No one wants to see the Devil's child…_

He remembered it like it was yesterday. He had walked into the opera house grinning from ear to ear, and not even the glares of the workers could bring him down. Their lead tenor had abruptly left, and the opera house was holding open auditions, and he was a shoo-in for the job. Though he had been cursed with a warped face, he had been blessed with a heavenly voice. However, he was shunned at the audition. The Daae's listened to him politely, but rudely informed him afterward that he could never be on the stage. Actually, it was Madame Daae who had been so horrid. "People come to see great art, monsieur. No one wants to see the Devil's child", she had said. "Gustav, please show Monsieur DuPont out." Monsieur Daae had remained silent the whole time, but spoke to him quietly as they left the room. "Do not mind my wife; she is a very bitter woman. I can tell you have a passion for this place. If you want, there is always a place for you among the stagehands. You'll be close to the stage, and my wife would never have to know. It's not much, but I'm afraid it's the best I can do."

Erik's eyes closed in pain at the memory. Was it really his fault that he looked this way? Why did everything have to be based on appearances? He knew he had talent. He could play piano and sing since before he could remember. He could have been the best performer the opera ever had! Instead, he became a stagehand. He could have kept his pride and declined, but pride couldn't pay bills. To be honest, being a stagehand had it's advantages. Within a couple of months, he knew everything about the opera house. He found grand rooms, one with a piano-forte. Sometimes when the opera house was empty, he would go in there to compose. On his late-night explorations he found secret passageways leading to the cellars. He had decided right then and there that if anything horrible happened, he could always live underneath the opera house. However, there were currently no mobs after him, so he preferred to live above ground.

He was exceptionally good at being a stagehand _and_ at hiding from Madame Daae. After Monsieur Daae died, he didn't have a kind soul to lead her away from discovering him. His trapdoors and passageways helped him escape her, and he learned to walk quietly in the always. His light of foot had earned him the nickname of 'Opera Ghost', or 'Phantom'. He didn't think much of the names, until a little ballerina came his way, fascinated by him. Isabelle was beautiful, a perfect angel.

'_Of course she reacted the way she did…she's an angel; you're a demon'_, he thought sadly. He opened the door to his liquor cabinet. Drowning his sorrows sounded like a pretty good idea right now.

"Do you really think that's going to solve anything?" came a voice from behind him.

Erik cursed as he almost dropped his glass. He turned around and glared at the man in front of him.

"Nadir", he said shortly, raising his glass to him before taking a sip. Nadir wasn't paying any attention. He walked over to the fireplace and inspected the mantle. He ran his finger over it, picking up dust.

"I love what you've done with the place", he said sarcastically. "So, what's the occasion for the brandy, hmm?"

Nadir smirked as Erik took another long sip, obviously not intending to answer him.

"You showed her didn't you?" he asked quietly. He knew that girl was trouble. He tried to tell him countless times that a little ballerina like that was going to be too vain to truly care for him. She would run off with a rich patron the first chance she got. Erik wouldn't listen. Taking his silence as a 'yes', he prodded further.

"How did she react?"

Erik took another swig of brandy. "She screamed and ran away."

Nadir nodded and stared into the fireplace. "Erik, I'm sorry-"

"Well I don't want your pity!" Erik yelled, throwing his glass at the wall. He leaned over his desk, holding the chair in a death grip.

"Erik-," the Persian tried again, but Erik interrupted him.

"Just get out."

Nadir nodded, and made his way to the door. He took an envelope out of his coat pocket.

"Before I go, here's an invitation to the masquerade", he said as he placed it on the desk. "I know you're the last person they'd want there, but it does say I can bring a friend. It might be fun. Besides…you could use a night to forget about everything," he said, trying to convince his friend. He paused a moment, then continued, "There will be plenty of brandy there."

"I'll think about it." Erik replied. Nadir nodded and bowed himself out.

Erik approached the invite, and had half a mind to throw it into the fire. But, the thought of Isabelle being there stopped him. He hated himself for it, but he still wanted to see her. Even if it was from a distance he wanted, no _needed_, to see her again. The only problem that remained was his costume. A mask wouldn't be a problem; he had dozens all over his house.

'_Masquerades are all about being something you're not for just one night; and I am certainly no Don Juan…' _

* * *

squee I'm still excited about getting reviews. Thank you so much! Here's my responses (these will always be at the bottom, so people don't have to scroll down all this to read the story):

**phantomlvr: **Thank you! When I first posted this story, I was freaking out that I didn't set it up well enough.

**Skoteinos Metamfiezomai:** giggles I can't wait to write her tantrum!

**Nyasia A. Maire:** Oh, don't worry, it probably won't end up like R&J. I hate the ending of it.

**FroggleBoggle:** I'm E/C all the way. Some stories have R/C at the beginning, then E/C later, but I'd make myself sick trying to write any R/C. In relation to R&J, Raoul would be Paris. hint hint

**Kalaia:** It is perfect isn't it! It doesn't have a lot in common, but reading R&J you can imagine it being Erik and Christine. I tried finding a crossover like this, but couldn't find anything. I was shocked.

**LittleLottexoxEriksTrueAngel:** I hope you liked it. :)

**Twinkle22:** I'll try to update as often as possible, probably about once a week. I want to finish before school starts again, so I might update in less time than that.

Thank you everyone for reviewing! It's so funny, I got my straight A report card the other day, and I was just calmly happy about it. Then I saw all theses great reviews and I was jumping up and down! Next time the masquerade!


	3. Masquerade

Sorry it took me so long to update. I've been away. I thought I'd be done with this chapter before I left, so I didn't bother mentioning the trip. I ended up writing most of the dialogue of this chapter on hotel paper, lol. Anyway, enjoy. Oh, and disclaimer: Don't own Phantom of the Opera, Romeo and Juliet, or the quotes from either. Too bad, so sad.

* * *

Christine adjusted her lace sleeves with a coy grin. Her mother was going to kill her. She was wearing an extremely revealing outfit, complete with a tight corset and almost see-through gold skirt. Antoinette glared at her into the mirror as she laced Christine into her corset.

"If your mother asks, _you_ laced it, not me." Antoinette said with a scowl, giving the laces an extra tight tug.

Christine just grinned at her into the mirror. "Will do." She said happily, at which Antoinette gave the laces an extra violent pull. Antoinette didn't know if she should applaud the girl for her boldness, or scorn her for her foolishness. In the end, she decided to mourn for her. There would be hell to pay when her mother saw her in the outfit.

Sure enough, there was. Christine entered the ballroom, all eyes on her. Many men stepped away from their partners, hoping to make it seem as though they were alone. Across the room, Anne was talking to a man that she soon realized was not paying attention to her anymore. She looked towards the door to see what was so much more interesting, and almost choked on her drink when she saw her only daughter, flesh practically laid bare for the world to see. She set her drink down on the tray of a waiter, and immediately made her way to her daughter, seized her by the arm, and dragged her behind a pillar.

"What the _hell_ do you think you are wearing? You are meeting the Vicomte tonight, for Heaven's sake! He expects a proper young lady, not some streetwalking-"

Anne froze as a man coughed behind her. Standing there, trying very hard not to laugh was the Vicomte de Chagny himself. He was tall, wearing a crisp white suit with a gold mask. His hair, which Christine guessed was shoulder-length, was pulled back into a pony-tail. Anne turned to him and smiled, trying to compose herself as quickly as possible.

"Monsieur Vicomte! What a delight to see you! I didn't know you were there…" she trailed off, blushing.

The Vicomte nodded with a small laugh. He took her hand and gave it a light kiss. "It's a pleasure to meet you Madame. And please, call me Raoul."

"Well then, Raoul, are you enjoying yourself?" Anna asked earnestly. Christine stared at her mother incredulously as she continued to make small talk, completely ignoring the fact that she was supposed to introduce them. _'They're hitting it off so well, maybe he should marry __**her**__. If only I could slip away…'_ Christine began slowly backing up, trying her best to go unnoticed. However, her mother turned around, frowned at the distance between them, and dragged her by the arm to introduce her.

"Monsieur Vic-er, Raoul, this is my daughter, Christine." Anne nudged Christine in the back, and she bent forward slightly. Raoul laughed.

"No need to bow, mademoiselle. It's wonderful to meet you." He paused a moment as the quartet began a song. "May I have this dance?"

He held his hand out, and Christine reluctantly took it. He led her to the middle of the room, and they began to waltz. Christine searched his eyes, looking for something to hate him for. As they danced, she found herself failing her conquest. He was a kind man. That was the simple truth. Nothing in his eyes could prove him to be a womanizing patron, or a cruel drunken scoundrel. He was a perfect gentleman, holding her like she was made of glass. How could she not like him? How could she not love him? Yet a voice inside was screaming, damn him, damn him! She wanted to hurt him; she wanted him to hurt her! Anything, so that she could feel something other than this all consuming numbness. She did not want the life of a trophy wife, a pretty porcelain doll placed on a shelf and admired. Oh, she knew he'd care for her. He had nothing in his eyes that would prove otherwise. He held nothing but adoration for her. No love, no passion, nothing but the compassion of a dear friend. As the song ended, Christine desperately looked up at Raoul.

"Would you mine getting me a drink?" she asked, giving him a weak smile. .

Raoul smiled down at her and nodded happily. "Of course, stay here." Christine nodded. The second he was out of sight, she bolted for the door leading to the back of the theater. She passed the drunken employees and ballet rats, rushing up the stairs to the roof.

Flinging the door open, she stepped out into the snow. The moon's ethereal light shone down on her, illuminating her pale face. Closing her eyes, she tried hard not to cry. Lifting her head, she began to quietly sing. Her wordless song drifted into the starry night. Maybe, just maybe, an angel would hear her cries, and carry her far away. Mother called her selfish. Anyone should be happy marrying such a good man. Yet she couldn't smile, she could only cry. She was being forced into a marriage with no love. She had no doubt that the Vicomte would cherish her and give her a lavish life, but she didn't want that. She wanted passion, spontaneity; she didn't want her days to be drawn out and planned to the last detail. She'd had enough of that in her life. Most of all, she wanted love. She didn't want to marry because of convenience. She wanted to be utterly and helplessly in love with her husband, and he her. Did that make her foolish and selfish? Maybe she was, but the idea felt so right.

XXXXXX

Erik was nervously adjusting his mask as Nadir calmly sipped his drink.

"I don't feel right being here," Erik insisted. "I wasn't personally invited. When they told you to bring a friend, I'm sure I was the last person on their mind. No one wants a monste-"

"Oh, do stop your whining." Nadir muttered. "You're wearing a mask! They'll never know it's you. Besides, that woman has her nose so high in the air that she'll never see you."

Nadir turned as a distinctly feminine cough came from behind him. He put on an insincere smile when he saw Madame Daae, poised and head held high.

"Anyone I know?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Nadir just smirked and gave her a slight bow. Anna gave him a nod. 'That man needs to learn to watch his tongue', she thought irritably. He had been talking to a tall man with ebony hair, dressed in a pair of rather tight pants. 'Christine is not the only one in need of a man in her life', she thought. It had been a year since Gustav had died, past the required mourning time. She was now free to do as she pleased. She turned to address the man, but was surprised to see he was gone. She turned back to the Persian.

"Where did he go?" she demanded. The Persian cocked his head at her, faking confusion. Silently, he was laughing at her. Why would she be so interested in Erik?

"Who?"

Anne gave a frustrated cry and stalked off, leaving Nadir to enjoy his drink

XxX

Erik had had to get out of there. He didn't belong among the higher class. And he certainly didn't belong around that vile woman, nor did he want to be! He needed some air, and not around other people. Ignoring the intoxicated ballet rats trying to stop him, he made his way up to the roof. He stealthily opened the door and walked out into the snow, at once hearing a beautiful sound. In front of him was a beautiful woman, with chestnut hair falling down her back. Her masked eyes were closed as she sang a wordless song to the inky sky. He could feel his heart beating faster, his pulse rushing. This had to be an angel, and this had to be heaven.

"Am I dead…" he asked the night.

She heard him. It was nothing more than a whisper, but she heard him. Christine slowly opened her eyes and whipped around, finding herself staring at a pair of the most exquisite eyes. They were a remarkable color, like a churning stormy sea, with flecks of amber. He seemed to be worshiping her with his eyes. The man took a deep breath, and spoke again.

"I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to intrude." He said. "I just…needed some air."

Erik just stood there a moment, not really sure what to do with himself. So, he continued.

"Your voice…it is exquisite. God must be missing one of His angels." He whispered.

Christine blushed. No one had complimented her like that before.

"Mother doesn't think much of it." She replied.

Erik frowned. "Then your mother is a fool." (AN: Isn't that the truth?)

Christine chuckled, and Erik felt his heart lift. He'd made her laugh.

"Truly, with training, you would have all of Paris at your feet."

Christine smiled sadly and walked closer towards him.

"I've always wanted lessons, ever since I was a little girl. I thought perhaps the Angel of Music would come and teach me.

"Angel of Music?" Erik asked softly.

"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing." She began. "With her little red shoes and her fiddle, she attended fairs with her father, and earned money on stage. It wasn't much, but it paid at comfortable wage. Then one night, laying in bed, her father promised to see her again, with the Angel of Music alongside. With a final cough, he died. Lotte cried for hours, until beautiful music lifted her head and dried her tears. The Angel of Music had come, sent from Heaven, and taught her music for years."

A tear slid down her cheek. She still remembered that story word for word, even after all the time that had passed by. Erik could see that the story was having an effect on her, and pulled her into a comforting embrace. She buried her face in his cloak, and he could feel her chocolate curls on his chin. She smelt of roses.

"You were Lotte."

"No." She whispered sadly. "My father died, but there were no fiddles or fairs. And the Angel of Music never came."

He held her tighter as another sob racked her body. He honestly didn't know what he was doing. He shouldn't drag himself in so deep, but he couldn't help it. He was drawn to her, and couldn't help but hold her. His mind was screaming at him to get out of there before she hurt him, but being there felt so right. He felt more at peace than he had in a long time, if ever. Besides, this was a masquerade. There would be no strange mask to ask about, because everyone else was wearing one, including her. He might as well give in to this feeling, and be happy if only for one night.

They clung together for a few moments, until Christine realized what was happening. What was she doing, clinging to some stranger in the dark of night? She was as good as married for Heaven's sake! She reluctantly pulled herself from the man's arms and wiped away her tears. She didn't know it would feel so good to just cry once in a while.

"I must go. They'll wonder where I am."

She quickly walked away from him, her gold chiffon skirt flowing behind her. She couldn't help but feel despair as she put more and more distance between them. Without turning back, she disappeared, leaving Erik in the cold.

xXx

"Christine! Where have you been?" A worried Raoul ran to her the moment she walked into the ballroom. "I told you to stay here." He continued, frowning. He didn't like disobedience.

"I needed some fresh air." She replied meekly. Raoul quirked an eyebrow.

"In the _dormitories_?" he said incredulously.

Near them, hiding in the shadows, was Erik. He had not been planning on returning to the ball room, but could not stay away her. Jealousy shot through him as the man she was with placed his hand on her shoulder.

'So, this pompous peacock is what made her hasten down here?'

His thoughts surprised him. Why should he be jealous? He was nothing to her, and she should be nothing to him. Yet here he was, glowing green like a love-sick school boy. He pulled his eyes away from her, and glanced at the boy as he spoke again.

"I have to speak with your mother. I'll only be a moment. And this time, _stay here_." He demanded firmly, leaving Christine to glare daggers at him. Christine let out a sigh that turned into a gasp as she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She turned to meet blazing green eyes.

"May I have this dance?"

* * *

Alas, I was going to finish the masquerade, but I'm going away again tomorrow and I didn't want to leave you guys with no update for so long. Besides, I love cliffies. :) Review please!

**Twinkle22:** Thanks. I'm glad you like it so far. I hope you like how this chapter went!

**Skoteinos Metamfiezomai:** Thank you very much. I've read that story actually. I think that is the weirdest AU I've ever read. It was interesting. I'm glad you think I'm doing a good job writing this. Actually, I have no idea what I'm doing, so it's nice to see I'm doing alright so far. When writing the first chapter, I tried to keep them in character, but it just didn't work out. I don't think it is possible to do this story without changing the personalites slightly.

**phantomlvr:** Thank you. Let's just hope I'm able to think up a great middle and end too. ;)

**Rikku Ree:** I'm working on writing longer chapters. It's not easy for me and it takes time, but I'm hoping someday I'll be able to write really long chapters. They should get longer as the story progresses. And hopefully the update time between them will grow smaller, eek.

**Nyasia A. Marie:** He he. That's what makes Erik so luvable. cuddles

**Kalaia:** Sorry that this chapter took so long. I hope you enjoyed it.

**Little LottexoxEriksTrueAngel:** eep. I'm getting more and more nervous every time someone says they can't wait for this chapter. prays it was good and sends it to friend to be edited for the gazillionth time ha ha. Hope you enjoyed it.

**Virginie:** I felt so bad writing that Erik bit. I kept on telling myself, aw c'mon, give him a brake. But that's what makes it so great, when Christine pulls Erik out of his misery. :) Oh, and you don't need to know the R+J characters. It MAY help in figuring out what might happen, but I'm writing this very loosely from R+J, so you don't really need to know.


	4. Fiancés and Identities

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill. Don't own Phantom, R+J, ect. If you think I do, I'm very honored that you would think that I'm brilliant enough to think up those beautiful stories. 'Cause I'm not.

I'm soooo sorry about how much time this has taken. School is really kicking my butt right now. This is the first time EVER that the whole 'school is going to be harder next year' thing has actually been true. And according to my English teacher I'm not much of a writer, which doesn't give me much incentive to go home and work on this. Argh. Anyway, enough of my ranting. Enjoy. Oh! And since a reviewer has pointed out that the name DuPont has been used in another story, I'm just going to make it easier on everyone by changing Erik's last name to 'Destler'. I think it's a little more common in phanfics. Sorry for any confusion.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The moment he asked, he wished he hadn't. He wanted to turn and run away, and never see her again. Fear of rejection tore at his heart, and thoughts of Isabelle shattered his soul. Yet, he could not run. Her gaze kept him rooted to the spot. Her dark brown eyes stared at him quizzically, almost wondering if he was real. Trance like, she took his hand. Everything else melted away. There were no such things as mothers and suitors, or gloom and despair. They swayed to the music, eyes on each other the whole time. They were in their own world, Don Juan and his young maiden.

Christine barely noticed as the music started. All she could think about was the man in front of her, holding her so protectively. He had a strange look in his eye, almost possessive. Could he have seen her with Raoul? Was he jealous? He couldn't be, Christine reasoned. They had only met moments ago, and yet she had a feeling that he _was_ envious. She didn't know what to think of that. When Raoul had treated her like property moments ago, it felt so wrong, and it made her blood boil. She belonged to no one. Yet being here in this man's arms, it felt so right. She wanted to belong to him, even if she didn't know his name. It made no sense, yet at the same time, it made all the sense in the world.

The strings slowly faded out, and Christine stared at him as they stopped moving. She could hardly breathe. When she did finally draw breath, she caught a whiff of something intoxicating. It was a wonderful mix of spices and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. She leaned into him and breathed deeper. His breath tickled her nose. She looked up into his eyes and realized that their lips were dangerously close. If he just leaned down a bit-

"Get your hands of my fiancé!"

It took Christine a moment to realize that Raoul was talking about her. She had almost forgotten about him. Christine cringed, and closed her eyes as Fate's jealous wave drew her in and back to reality. How had she put it earlier? 'As good as married'. Though she had given no answer, there was no question what her answer would be. She belonged to another, no matter how much she protested. She gazed up into the man's golden eyes, flinching as she noticed his accusatory gaze. She barely knew him, and yet the look of betrayal on his face gave her more pain than anything she had ever experienced. Everything felt like it was happening in slow-motion. She felt herself drowning as he slowly backed away from her. He'd dropped her hand and it hung limply on her side. She tried to cry out to him, but no sound came out. She did not know why she felt the need to go after him, but she did. Whatever had happened tonight happened for a reason. It was fate, she was sure of it. She was supposed to meet him tonight of all nights, before she'd accepted Raoul's proposal. Just as she finally found the strength to run after him, she felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. Raoul was staring at her with concern in his eyes.

"Christine! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Christine gaped at him. "I wasn't aware that dancing would bring bodily harm to one's self!" she snapped, turning on her heal. She stormed out of the ball room, leaving the world of cigar smoke and wine behind.

Anne watched the scene almost nonchalantly. She did not understand her daughter. Every man in this room was used to dainty little women who did what they were told and never asked questions. Alas, that was not her daughter. The woman who had stormed out of the room was nothing like the fainting damsels that scattered the room, and she was not sure if the Vicomte would be at ease with that.

Anne set her eighth drink down on a passing trey with a sigh. Did her daughter not realize just how good she had it? There were people starving out on the streets and she was angry that she couldn't throw herself at whatever handsome man that passed by.

'_And I thought she wanted to be nothing like me'_ she mused with a wry grin.

No, her daughter would never be happy. Here she was, amidst fine gowns and decadent foods, with the most eligible bachelor in Paris willing to place the world at her feet. Yet she was utterly miserable.

Erik angrily stalked down the path, leaving trails of staring masked-and drunk- patrons in his wake. He'd heard de Chagny call out her name. _Christine._ Dear God, of course she was a Daae! Who else in this city could inherit such beautiful hair and blue eyes?

'_Fool! Why do I have such a knack for falling for women that are Hell bent on hurting me? Of course she's marrying the damn Vicomte! She probably knew precisely who I was, and decided to have a little fun with me! Seduce the freak; give her little lady friends something new to gossip about!'_

Chest heaving, Erik stopped in his tracks as he realized where he was: the courtyard where he had revealed himself to Isabelle. He walked solemnly to the bench where they had sat. He wondered, would it still be soaked with his tears? But as he sat down on the bone-dry stone, he grimly decided that of course it would not be wet. Monsters did not weep.

Christine slammed her door shut and latched the lock, falling to the floor in a heap. Tears poured down her face. How could her mother be so cruel as to force her into matrimony like this? There was no reason why she should have to marry the Vicomte. Why was he so interested in her anyway? They were hardly from the same class. Indeed, they were both considerably rich, but de Chagny was aristocracy. She was from a poor Swedish family that just happened upon a large amount of cash. Since he was aristocracy, money had to be the only reason why they should wed. So who was it that was in need of it? Had Madame de Chagny wasted the family money on her expensive jewels and gowns? Or was it her own mother who had done so?

Christine rose from the lush carpets adorning her floor and walked to her vanity. She slipped out of her gypsy attire, revealing her cream colored undergarments. Her white dressing gown, decorated with dainty pink flowers and scalloped lace, was hanging on the chair. She carefully pulled in on, and walked out onto her balcony. The night air was crisp, and she could faintly make out the stars above her. Glistening in the sky, it was the only thing around her that seemed real. She smiled weakly as she thought of the man she had met, right under these same stars. It reminded her of the Shakespeare tale; star-crossed lovers. She wished she could believe in something like that, but it just seemed so unreal. Christine sighed sadly. It was useless to rely on something so unstable.

"Christine."

She turned to find Meg Giry looking at her anxiously. Christine was surprised to see her standing there. She usually never ventured out of the kitchens.

"That man you were with. The one with the mask. Do you realize who that was?"

Christine smiled wryly. "It was a masquerade. What would it matter that he was wearing a mask? Everyone was."

Meg shook her head vehemently. "It does matter. You see, everyone else will take off their mask tonight. He will not. And he never will."

Christine stared at her, confused. "What are you implying, Meg? That he's some sort of criminal, hiding his identity?"

Meg shook her head and sighed, her eyes downcast. "No dear. He is a Destler. _The_ Destler."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic! What are you going on about?"

"They…they say he's killed a man." She whispered urgently.

"You just said that the mask wasn't because he was a criminal!" she exclaimed impatiently. She turned around and stared back out into the street; she did not have the patience to listen to the girl's useless tittle-tattle.

"Well, the mask isn't because of that."

Christine glanced at Meg, her dark eyes questioning. Meg leaned in closer, and dramatically lowered her voice.

"It's because of the deformity."

Of all the explanations Meg could have given, that was the least she had expected. Why was this so urgently important? Was he not a man, flesh and blood, just like everyone else? What did it matter if he looked different? Last she had checked, everyone was different from one another. Yet the mousy child in front of her was hell bent on convincing her that it did matter. Meg pouted when Christine did not show any horror at this revelation.

"Christine…he's the reason why your parents were against the Destler family."

Christine's eyebrows drew together in confusion. What on earth was she talking about?

"Didn't your mother ever tell you? He was an abomination; he should have been put to death-"

Her statement was cut short when Christine angrily turned to her, eyes blazing. The little rat cowered at her mistress, realizing she had overstepped an unknown boundary. Christine slowly approached her, backing her off the balcony and into the room.

"Do you not have work to do?" Her voice was icy.

"Yes, ma'am." Meg squeaked, quickly leaving the room, tripping over her own feet as she went.

Satisfied that her vexing maid had left, Christine walked back onto the cool of the balcony. Her hands caressed the cold stone as she idly looked out onto the gardens. Her brows furrowed as she noticed a dark figure pacing. She watched him, fascinated. He was like a jungle cat trapped in a cage.

"_Oh, Christine, how many men are you going to fancy in one day?"_ she scolded herself.

But the moonlight had caught the face of the strange man, and she could see a familiar mask.

"_Perhaps only one…"_

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Ah, you know what's next.

O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?

Well, not exactly. Don't want to make people gag. (I'm just kidding, I love that part. Just imitating my classmates when we watched the movie.)

Ooh, and since I mentioned my evil English teacher bringing me down, you all know what that means! REVIEW!!!!

Pretty please? With a cherry on top?

And now for responses to reviews! (Yes, I know, I'm not the most creative person when it comes to this. Bear with me and know that I love you all for commenting.)

**Twinkle22:** Thank you. I just HAD to write their meeting on the rooftop. Just couldn't resist. 

**TheAngel'sMaggie:** Thank you so much for letting me know about that. I found the name on some French name site and thought it sounded neat. Eh. I've changed the name now, just to be safe.

**Nyasia A. Marie:** Thanks for the suggestion. I'm trying to grow out of the 'he/she said' thing. It was beaten into me in school. I tried not to use it too much in this chapter.

**Kalaia: **Thank you!

**OceansAway:** Yea, Erik always makes a good jealous kind of guy. You can kind of imagine a murderous look in his eye.

**SolaLuna:** Thanks, and sorry it took me so long. 

**LittleLottexoxEriksTrueAngel:** Thanks 

**Skoteinos Metamfiezomai: **See, my story would totally work if her mother forgot about her, because I think half the time she doesn't know she has a daughter to begin with! Ha ha. Yes, loosely basing this is going to help me a lot. Most of the plot is probably going to come from reviewer's reactions. Their deaths are definitely out of the question, since people have already voiced their opinion about that. Thanks for reading and reviewing.


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Drama, Romance