Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. This is my first ficlet for them. The whole thing belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber. If this particular plot has been done before, forgive me, no infringement is intended. Enjoy, and please review :)
Swords clashed, and metal sparks flew, the two men in a dance filled with tension, their faces illuminated by the soft moonlight of the full moon. It looked like one particular man was winning, until he was on the ground, with the other's foot on his chest, sword poised by his face; ready to deliver the final blow.
The man on the ground wore a mask, and was called Erik. Or, to everyone else, the Phantom of the Opera. The victorious man was called Raoul, and he was fighting Erik to the death. All because of a woman. This woman ran forward. Her name was Christine Daae.
Her dress was black, and floor length, a scarf wrapped around her head. She had tears drying on her face, which was red from the harshness of the wind's biting.
The night was cold, and breath could be seen in a mist, swirling around everyone's faces. The mist mingled between themselves, forming one, then rising into the air in a cloud. "No, Raoul! No. Not like this. Don't let the Angel in Hell's death hang above you. Stop. Please." She stopped to catch her breath, and she stumbled forward; tripping over her train.
Raoul put his sword into his sheath, gleaming red with Erik's blood, and looked at Christine. "Are... you... mad? This man is the reason you were nearly killed." Erik's face was contorted with anger, and Christine looked at him, helplessness in her eyes.
Pain was evident in his, and it was so powerful that Christine walked over to him, shrugging clear of Raoul's restraining arm, and knelt before him. She was completely disregarding the restraining order Raoul had put on her Angel of Music, and ripped a strip of cloth from Erik's cloak.
As she started to wrap his wound – a slash on his shoulder – he hissed, and Christine flinched. "Sssh. It's fine. There. Done." The Phantom's eyes hunted hers down, and held her gaze. For a moment, each pair of eyes memorised the other's face, and that was where each found their release from reality. In each other. Raoul cleared his throat, getting uncomfortable. When she made no attempt to stop her eyes darting all over her secret love interest's face, Raoul roughly grabbed her, and crushed her lips to his. There was no emotion in the kiss, only possession, like Christine was a prize to be won. His lips were cold and unfeeling. Slimy. She pulled away. "No." She was shaking in rage, and Erik stood up steadily.
Sorry this is so short. This is just a little bit of it, as I would like some opinions on this. Please review. I'm not sure if I should continue this, so reviews are REALLY important. Thank you ;) All reviews will be replied to, I promise.