Mon Aimé Eros

Part one: Protégé

The night chilled the young girl to her very fragile bones. How was it possible that her dreams became nightmares, and her nightmares became daydreams? Because- surely this couldn't be real. The wind tousled her hair, but somehow it never once flipped over her eyes; the breeze, which now stung from moving so fast, did not sting as much as one would think. This was odd, how people always put together 'flying' and 'the cold wind hurts your face'. But, they also did the same with 'cold' and 'shadows', and the shade that she clung too was defiantly warm.

She was flying on a shadow. How curious. She was moving so fast that streams of darkness billowed out behind her, and her own shadow ran after, trying to catch up- obviously it was jealous of her and her new friend! Obviously.

Then, the shadow stopped. In front of her was a looming castle, with the highest towers in the world! Everything was shining with bright gold and flawless marble blocks, smooth moonlight glinting off the final statue of a man on the top of the building. Or, was it a man? No, it was an angel! It had big golden wings that curved around its torso, and it had something in its hands- a vase? A flower? If it were a flower, she'd have liked it to be a rose.

The mind of six-year-old Christine Daae was a simple one.

All around her the shadow suddenly began to swirl. She was enveloped in a blanket of black cloth, and young Christine closed her eyes so to stop from getting sick from the speed. Was her shadow rapid? Did it have a disease that caused it to act so? Did it have rabies?

Well, the well-minded six-year-old knows how to handle these types of things. "Do you have rabies?" She demanded the swirling shadow. And, as her first words were spoken into the watery night air (How curious, watery air? It was airy air, thin air, light air…), the swirling stopped. In front of her stood… not a shadow!

A man!

A shadowy man!

In her small mind, Christine made up that this man was a vampire, right then and there. How else could he swirl like a cyclone, and be as dark as midnight?

"Vampire," She hissed to him, accusing, then crossed her arms with a pout. Maybe it was the soft panic that thrummed like a tapped pigeon in her chest that made her mouth work without knowledge of her well-minded brain.

The man wore a hood, tilted over his face, which made him said 'shadowy' man. In the shadow that was his face, only a wisp of moonlight shone through his veil, lighting upon something that shone like the provider of light itself. No, her captor wasn't vampire- he was a God! No, Gods didn't wear darkness on their bodies; they immersed themselves in light! Then he was… an angel?

"I hate children." The angel grumbled, and Christine now shivered from the cold. In a moment, the quickly witted girl decided that, if the angel- shadow, God, vampire- had held her before, he could spare some of his warmth now. She flung her small arms around him, burying her face in the tussled blackness that covered his stomach.

The angel seemed to think she was a demon- he jumped back from her like she was one! His cloak swirled around him (She soon discovered that was what had given him the illusion of shade) and settled by his black ankles.

Christine moaned. "Angel! I'm cold!"

The angel stiffened for a second- his back was rigid under layers of dark cloth, and even his pale jaw, barely visible from under the hood, grew tight with a clench. Then, she heard his laughter, small and almost non-existent, for the first time. It fluttered over her like dark butterflies, and, if Christine hadn't been the well-minded girl that she was, she would've tweaked at the air with already-cold fingers to try to catch their faint wings. "Oh, Angel." She sighed happily; who knew an angel could calm frazzled nerves with just a hint of laughter?

"Angel?" He echoed her, and suddenly his cloak was tossed of broad shoulders, resulting in tugging off his hood, resulting in showing young Christine Daae her angel's face for the first time. Oh, my! His face was perfectly white! Moonlight made it glow with a pale light, and his eyes were just two soft golden spheres set deep in his face.

"Yes…?" She tried to make sense with her suddenly muddled thoughts. "Do you have a name, Angel?"

"Call me your Angel of Music." He looked down at her with a small smile. Only his lips and chin wasn't covered in the whiteness, resulting in letting her see his pale skin slightly. She could see his skin nowhere else- his sparse brown hair was combed strategically so that it covered his ears, and he wore black just everywhere!

Christine smiled to herself, smug. So, he was an angel! She had known it, even before he had said it. "But, even angels have names…" She trailed off, and forced herself to meet those dark, golden eyes with her own.

When she blinked, the angel let himself shiver for a moment. Uncertainty ripped through his mind and worry flooding his eyes. Though, when Christine opened her eyes again after a moment, her angel was looking as calm as ever though, having regained his air of confidence.

"Erik." He said, his voice even lower then before, barely more then a melodic whisper.

"Erik." She echoed softly. It was the name fitting for… him. Not a vampire, a God, a shadow, or an angel. Erik was a fitting name for Erik.

"Christine Daae, I am yours as you are mine… you are mine now, right?" He murmured, eyes suddenly glinting with eagerness. He said 'mine' with more pride then she could've ever mustered up, and she was a slightly arrogant girl.

She nodded weakly, suddenly awed by her captor…her guardian… her angel! But, why? What sort of power did he have over her; what had he resurrected inside her in such a sort time? Was this what it was like to feel wanted, to be loved by anther person? Erik interrupted her thoughts.

"Now, let me show you heaven."

With a swirl of shade-like cloak, Erik led six-year-old Christine Daae into the Opera Populaire. In a second, she became the princess of his castle, and the small dapple of color on the easel. In a second, Christine Daae became Erik's life.

summery:

What if the serpent fell in love with Eros? What happens when the fire reaches the sapling? Can fatherly love turn to romance when it is demanded too?

What if… what if Erik had found Christine when she was only six years old, an arrogant young girl who had been living in a run-down Orphanage since she was just a baby? What if he fell in love with that voice, like the story tells, and learned to manipulate an innocent mind into being his protégé- into being the Phantomess of the Opera… and being the Cherub of Music?

For never was a story of more torment then this of the Devil and his Juliet.

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. Gaston does, no one else, ya here?

Rating: T… for the third chapter I think… may have to make it go up higher though, because… well… that third chapter ain't nice.)

(PS: I sincerely need a betta reader. This is my first Phan-Fic, so be nice… if anyone reviews at all, that is- lux)