The Phantom Lover

by

INSANITY

(Author's note: YAYYYY!!!!!! I'm finally getting a fanfic (or should I say Phanfic!) published!! I have been trying for a long time now, but it's hard because I don't have much time, and I don't have Internet access. That's why this story has an author's note, and an editor's note; because my friend, who is also a fanfic writer is posting this for me. Anyways, I have a couple of things to say to you readers before I get to my disclaimer, so listen up. (Figuratively speaking, of course, since you are reading not listening.) First, about the pseudonym. That is not my only pseudonym, and I will mention at the end of the story what my other ones are so if you like my work, you can read more of it. Second, about the story. It is based on an extremely crazy idea, so please bear with me; everyone lives happily ever after in the end. Okay, that's done, on to the disclaimer. Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Elizabeth, Arminta, Lizzie Firmin, Herr Meyerling, Dr. Fauster and Passarino. I don't own any of the music or places P.S. Sorry for the long A/N, but I'm only writing one at the beginning and the end of the story. Read and Review!!!!(please!) )

(Editor's note: Hi, Mersang here. My friend wrote this, but since she doesn't have an account I'm posting it on her behalf. She's got some good ideas for Animorphs, too.)

1 "I Am A Woman In Love, And I'll Do Anything To Get Into Your World..."

December 25, 1881.

It was a beautiful Christmas day. All morning snow had fallen on Paris, but around noon the sun came out and the whole city glistened. The sloping roofs and elaborate stonework of the Opera House were especially lovely. Christine had found Christmas alone too depressing to stand so she arrived at the Opera House early and wandered the halls enjoying the festive atmosphere. With a faint twinge of guilt she thought of Erik, alone in his cold, damp cellar on Christmas Day, as she climbed the stairs to the dusty, mysterious attics.

She had almost reached the vast, cavernous space above the performance hall, right below the roof, when she heard a voice. It was Ubaldo Piangi, the lead tenor. He seemed a bit upset and Christine crept forward to see what might be wrong. She soon wished she had not. Far from spending a lonely Christmas in a dank cellar, the Phantom was celebrating in his own unique way: murder. Piangi was backed up against the wall and was being menaced by Erik, Punjab Lasso in one hand, mask in the other.

"Admit it!" Erik hissed. "you impress the chorus girls by telling lies about me."

"Of course not!" Piangi mumbled drunkenly. "I'm an honest man!"

"I see." Erik's voice dripped sarcasm. "I hate to contradict a gentleman, but I do not see an honest man in front of me, I see a drunken fool; one who is about to become a dead fool." He began to advance, step by terrifying step on the man opposite him, who was finally beginning to be worried by his predicament. But, before real fear could penetrate the tenor's alcohol-drenched brain, something unexpected happened. From the shadows on the far side of the room from where Christine was stepped a young woman.

She was dressed in a dress that had been white and quite pretty once, was now muddy and soaking wet. She had long, dark red-gold hair that trailed down her back in wet tendrils; and pale, clear skin. She had a straight, rather narrow nose, and full lips surrounding a mouth that, although not small, was not too large for her face. The dim light coming from behind her kept her eyes in shadow. Her sudden appearance caught the Ghost's eye and he paused, and turned his head to look at her. She stepped between the two men.

"Get out of the way!" Erik growled. The raised her head to look him in the face and her manner became pleading.

"Please, Phantom, don't kill him." She asked. Her voice was high-pitched, but unlike Carlotta's, not shrill.

"And why ever not?" The Phantom enquired menacingly, taking a step toward the strange girl and drawing himself up to his full height the better to loom over her. She answered his enquiry in a startling manner. Crossing the distance between them in two quick steps, she flung her arms around his neck.

"Please let him go! he is frightened enough already." She begged. With a surge of rage at her impudence Erik raised his hands to hurl her away from, but as he did he looked down into her eyes. He suddenly felt his rage, bitterness, and hatred drain away and instead of gripping her with talon-like, he laid them gently on her back. The girl was nothing special. She was so tiny that Erik would have had to stoop to rest his chin on her head, but her body pressed against him as no woman's ever had. Although she had to stand on tiptoe to do it, her arms willingly encircled his neck and held him close to her. And her eyes...

Two golden-green pools framed by the longest lashes he had ever seen. Erik had a vague idea he was drowning in them, but he immediately dismissed that notion. How could eyes that shone with such pleading, trust, and something else he could not, dared not, identify, do anything so violent as drown someone? The pleading in her eyes was not in any way pathetic, but Erik would have unhesitatingly sworn that one would have had to be more than human to resist it. She must have read in his eyes that he would let Piangi go, for she smiled at the Phantom; a warm, radiant smile and said:

"Thank you, Phantom." Erik smiled back. Christine, who had watched this whole drama played out, shuddered. Erik's smile was not a pretty sight. His twisted lips curled upward displaying his vampire-like fangs, which seemed more than sharp enough to pierce the skin of the throat of the woman in front of him.

Meanwhile Piangi, seeing that the Ghost was distracted, stole softly across the room to the door, where he found Christine. He touched her arm and gestured to the door. she backed out and Piangi followed. If Erik noticed them leave he did not react. Christine retained her self-control until she met Raoul, who had come looking for her, but then she burst into tears and flung herself into his arms. Raoul soothed her as she sobbed out the story. He was worried, knowing better than Christine the horrors the Phantom was capable of, but he didn't see what he could do for the girl. With any good fortune, he thought, she will leave before much harm can come to her. But Raoul was wrong on more than one count in his analysis of the situation...

Back in the attic silence descended softly. It was broken only when the woman sighed contentedly and nestled deeper into Erik's arms, resting her head against his breast.. Erik bent his head and laid his cheek on her head, enjoying the feel of her damp but soft hair on his twisted, rotten flesh. In his mind a thousand questions whirled around and around. The foremost was; Is this a dream? But he wanted so desperately it to be real that he did not dare ask that.

"Who are you?" He asked instead.

"My name is Elizabeth." She said aloud. She added in her read: I am a woman who loves you more than mere words can describe. "I ran away to come to you." She continued aloud. "I am lucky no one can miss the Opera House, because I have never been to Paris before."

"Why are you here? Paris is a wonderful city, but why run away to come here?" Erik asked, not caring as much about information as about hearing her voice answer.

"I came here to find you. I have heard so much about you that I knew I had to try to find you. I could not tell my parents because they would have thought me mad, so when an opportunity came along I took it and here I am. A pity she thought to herself that I cannot tell him the whole truth, but he would think me mad; and I could not bear that! She shivered, and the Ghost realized she was soaking wet and probably chilled to the bone. His questions could wait, he decided, until she was warm and dry and had a hot meal inside her. He was working out the logistics of the plan to take care of her before he realized he had decided to adopt it. Good Lord, he thought, why am I saddling myself with another female? After the fiasco with Christine this summer I must be going senile to feel flattered enough by her desire for my company to take her "home" and take care of her. Oh well, at least since I'm the notorious Phantom of the Opera, I don't have to worry about propriety. And with that thought he picked up his mask and Punjab Lasso off the floor where he had dropped them and took Elizabeth's hand to lead her to his lair. Once there he sent her into the bedroom to remove her sodden apparel while he went to find dry clothes and a meal for the pair of them.

He soon returned, having only gone as far as the kitchens and the costume store rooms. He passed the costume he had brought her though the crack she opened the door, changed his own clothes, which were wet from the contact with hers, and set himself to laying the meal out on the table. Soon Elizabeth joined him, looking quite pretty in a red dress with a sunshine yellow shawl over her shoulders. The dress was much more like current fashion than her other outfit; having the long, full skirts, narrow waist, and low neckline of the period. Now Erik could see the curves of her body that he had so recently felt. With slightly exaggerated elegance he held her chair for her and served her the warm bread with butter melting on it, the hot hearty soup, and the red wine he had stolen from the kitchens. Elizabeth was ravenous, and the Phantom found himself curiously hungry also, so there was little conversation for the first part of the meal.

Although the silence was companionable, it began to get to Erik after awhile. Since he couldn't think of anything to say he watched Elizabeth for a few minutes, in hopes of inspiration.

"What are you thinking?" She asked him, looking up to find his eyes on her.

"I was thinking of you. I was wondering what topic of conversation would interest you." Erik responded gravely. Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with such merriment at his gallantry that despite himself he felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward. She smiled back at him and said:

"We could discuss topics of conversation. That way we could find something that pleases both of us. Oh, before I forget; who was that man up in the attic?"

"That was Ubaldo Piangi, the company's lead tenor." Erik said with a sneer.

"I hope he's not performing tonight. He was too drunk to even speak properly, never mind sing." Elizabeth said concernedly. Erik chuckled.

"Do you think anyone will notice the difference? He is never able to sing or act. Do not worry about him."

"Oh, I'm not worried about him. He deserves to be fired for lying about you and then daring to deny it to your face!" Exclaimed Elizabeth.

"If you had let me kill him he would not need to be fired." Erik pointed out.

"I said he deserves to be fired; he doesn't deserve to be killed. Killing is so final. No one should kill for something as trivial as slander if the slanderer is a lying idiot." She declared.

"He certainly is an lying idiot. A toast with the last of the wine?" The phantom said, changing the subject. Elizabeth agreed and allowed him to fill her glass. "To opera. May it never die!" Erik said.

"To the master of all music, the Opera Ghost. May foolish managers and drunken tenors never overcome him!" Elizabeth answered and they both drained their glasses.

Dinner over, Erik and Elizabeth cleared the table, packing the borrowed items into the basket Erik had brought them in, and retired to the 'living room'. Erik lit a candle and threw himself down onto his throne. Elizabeth promptly rose from her seat and perched on the arm of the throne. Erik glanced sharply at her but said nothing.

The silence lasted for some time. Then, with a rustle of skirts, Elizabeth slid down and arranged herself on the floor at the Phantom's feet, leaning back against his knees. Erik, deep in thought, scarcely noticed. He certainly was not aware that soon after she settled he began stroking her hair and twining it around his fingers. Time passed. Only when the candle spluttered and died did Erik rouse himself from his reverie. Elizabeth was asleep. Carefully Erik stood up, and carried her into the spare room. He laid her on the bed, covering her with warm wool blankets against the damp chill that pervaded the cellar. Then he stole away and began to play soft melodies on his organ.