Hello everybody! This is my first fanfic but I wanted to tell a little bit about myself. I'm 14 years old and incredibly obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera. The music, the movie, the book (I have yet to see the show). But anyways, I've been writing stories and poems for a while now. The main reason I wanted to do this was because I feel like I'm never critiqued properly. The main responses are, "Oh! That's so good," or, "I don't see anything wrong with it..." Now, I'm not saying I want you to bash me about anything and everything. But I'm aiming for good, developed characters and putting in the right amount of detail. I'm pretty sure I've got my plot where I want it. Please read and enjoy!

Chapter One: Stranger in the Night

"Go now! Go now, and leave me!" cried Erik, urging Christine and Raoul to flee from the black labyrinth, his eternal hell.

The man, the supposed monster known simply as O.G., slumped into a chair. His strong hand gently stroked the side of the barrel monkey shaped music box that he treasured so much. Tears streamed from his eyes, one that was hideously distorted and the other perfectly normal. A faint smile came across his face as he wound the box and soft music played.

"Masquerade, paper faces on parade… Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you…" The last few words were barely audible, but Erik could hear the irony in them. The world had found him. Not only that, it had come crashing down on him.

Footsteps echoed throughout the dimly lit corridors of his home. He looked up to see Christine's lovely, perfect face. A face that was so vastly different from his own, the one he had killed for. From which a voice so angelic and pure emerged. Why had she come back?

False hope filled Erik's heart and mind. But when he saw a pang of guilt appear like a flash of light in her eyes, his fondest desire vanished. All he could manage to get out was, "Christine, I love you…" The words flowed tenderly from his lips.

She stepped towards him, not afraid, not disgusted, but with a sad, sweet smile. On her finger was the dazzling diamond ring he'd given her only moments ago. She gently pulled it off and placed it into Erik's own hand. Her large, gazing brown eyes stared into his for a brief moment, trying to convey the message that she truly did love him, and always would. Christine turned and walked to Raoul who was awaiting her in the gondola that Erik had given them to escape the underground lake. The young man helped the girl's slender figure onto the vessel and began the journey back to daylight.

As Erik watched them depart from him forever. He murmured, "You alone can make my song take flight… It's over now, the music of the night!"

And upon the last word he seized a golden candleholder. With every bit of anger and pain that coursed throughout his body, he smashed the mirrors that adorned the walls of his abode. Cries of discovery came from above. The mob had at last discovered the beast responsible for all their miseries.

Erik's mind raced. He usually was able to complete a plan of action in mere seconds. But since his brain was muddled with other thoughts, he struggled for several moments trying to decide what to do. Should I let them find me? He wondered. What is the point of my existence now? His angel was betrothed to the Viscount, just as she had wanted. Erik vowed to himself he would never love another like Christine again. How could he? It would be impossible

As the pack of intruders armed with pistols, pitchforks, and anything that could serve as a weapon, drew near, Erik once again donned the white, half-mask that had become almost a part of his anatomy and stood ready to exit through the secret path hidden behind the largest of his mirrors. Glancing behind him, Erik couldn't help but take a minute to get the smallest bit of pleasure watching the crowd's reaction to his residence. Stunned by the lair's strange décor, the party seemed to be lost in a state of pure awe before remembering who they had come for. Facing them, Erik raised his hands as a sign that he was not going to do anything.

"Please, messieurs, I mean you no harm."

Some people in the group scoffed at this. They returned his plea with a glare that was all too familiar to him. Walking closer to the cluster, hands still raised, he stood upon one of the many trapdoors that served as an escape from the cavern. Erik knew he wouldn't leave his lair alive if he showed his back to this bunch. A deathly silence hung in the air. Without a sound, one man raised his pistol and shot.

A woman screamed as Erik's body crumpled in a heap and fell through the door. His face hit the cold, hard ground and he picked himself up with great difficulty. The man had shot him in the left shoulder, blood now pouring from the wound. Why couldn't he have just shot me in the heart? Erik thought bitterly. It's not like I would have felt it…

He staggered through a passageway to a door that led to the outside world. The world that helped him resent all of mankind. Well, all of it but her… his angel. His shoulder began bleeding faster now. Erik stumbled in this dazed state for a few moments, finally collapsing on a sidewalk on the dark streets of Paris.

xXx

Michelle Moreaux rounded a corner of a cobblestone sidewalk, eyes scanning the horizon of the empty streets. What time is it? She wondered. She'd left home at10:00 this evening, it had to be at least one o'clock in the morning. Her nightly walks could last hours and hours before she returned home. She had always loved the night, preferring it over daylight with a strange passion. As far as she knew, she'd been like this since for as long as she could remember, since she had been a mere child. Her mother had died when she was four years of age, at sunrise. That sunrise always burned in her mind and was a lasting imprint upon her heart. Her mother's smile as it faded, and her eyes closed forever, the sun had taken her mother's life with it into the sky.

Michelle had hardly kept in touch with her father since he remarried, almost eleven years after the death of his wife, when Michelle was fifteen-years-old. The woman he'd married, a fat Spanish heiress to a prospering wine vineyard, would often make rude comments about Michelle's appearance. Her dazzling blue eyes that were too big, her eyebrows too dark (which was not in style, apparently), anything that seemed even slightly wrong was critiqued by the woman.

It was quite darker out now than when Michelle had left her home that evening, so she quickened her pace. The dim streetlights cast eerie shadows across the pavement, but she loved them, somehow. They were like friends that kept watch over her during these nocturnal escapades. Michelle looked onward and saw a figure in the distance. Thinking it was a dog that might be injured she walked closer. Soon she realized that the heap was a man entangled in his cloak.

"He is probably a drunk," She muttered as she stepped over him. But something was odd about the way he was laying. Michelle bent down and pulled back the cloak. He did not smell of alcohol. As she tugged at the garment, one side of his face appeared. It was ghostly white. To her shock Michelle saw it was a mask.

Still curious as to the man's condition, Michelle pushed the mysterious figure onto his back. As she did so, she felt something wet on her fingers. Raising her hand to the moonlight, the woman saw to her horror that it was blood.

"Oh my God, monsieur? Monsieur, can you hear me?

No answer came from the man, he had black out.