If you are a first-time reader of my stories, welcome! If you have read any of my previous work, I am honored that you are back to read more. I hope you enjoy my first multi-chapter journey into the Phantom's world, and Christine's heart. This story is complete. I plan on submitting a new chapter every day.

I do not own these characters; they are drawn from several incarnations of The Phantom of the Opera. The Andrew Lloyd Webber musical and the original Leroux novel have provided me with the greatest source of inspiration.

Prologue

The organ keys were gathering dust.

Long, white fingers, once supple and strong, rested idly upon them. Hands born to weave melodies, harmonies, and counterpoints of intricate beauty sat silent. Erik stared at the blank page in front of him without seeing.

The music had left him.

On the red carpet beside the bench lay a discarded piece of newsprint, ragged at the edges from being hastily torn from Le Temps. Erik could not bear to look at it again. He already knew what it said. He had read it so many times that morning that he had memorized its contents.

"A Fairytale Wedding," it read in gaudy, loud lettering. Then, in smaller print, "The happy marriage of Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny, and his childhood sweetheart, opera diva Christine Daaé, will take place today at the de Chagny chapel just outside Paris at 12:00 pm."

Erik had known this day would eventually come. He had always known, ever since the night Christine had left him. He thought he had prepared himself…but he never could have anticipated the blow that seeing the truth in black-and-white newsprint struck within him. It was done.

Of course, it had been done well before now; Erik knew that perfectly well. He knew before he watched Christine sail away across the lake with that wretched boy. He knew before she gave him his ring back. He knew, in the precise moment when her perfect lips touched his for the first time, that she was no longer his to possess. She kissed him with all of the passion he'd sensed within her since she was a young girl; she kissed him with all of the love that he knew she carried for him somewhere in her heart…the love that she could not yet see that she felt. Thus, it was in the moment of his deepest joy that he found the most profound sorrow. For the very first time, he realized that no matter how much he wanted to, he could not make her see that she loved him, even if his entire soul screamed out to her to notice it. She would have to discover it on her own.

That secret love laced her kiss, her body responding to a truth that her mind did not understand. But if Erik wanted Christine to love him as he loved her, her whole self would have to know it. That would never happen if she believed that she was a prisoner for the rest of her days. She had to be as willing as he. Would a kiss, granted by his beautiful Christine of her own accord, not be infinitely sweeter than all of the forced touches of the past? He had to let her go. And so he did.

As the time passed and the days and nights blurred together, Erik tried to tell himself firmly that she was never coming back. But his heart simply wouldn't listen. Something deep within him, in the part of his soul where there were no lies, whispered to him to hold on. Surely, she could not deny the truth of their kiss? Surely, she would not deny the years of friendship, and — dare he think it? — the love that they shared when he was still her Angel of Music? Even after he became a man of real flesh and blood to her, with all of his flaws, crimes, and sins, there had to have been a part of her that still cared for him. After all, he never stopped being the person he was when he was her Angel. He was still the same…

Ah, but that wasn't really true, was it? He was not the same. Her Angel had no hideous disfigurement. He had no flaws, no sins to atone for. It was no crime for an Angel to look with love on a beautiful, talented young woman. An Angel was a noble hero. A Phantom, on the other hand…he was always the villain of the story. The monster.

And the beautiful leading lady never chose the monster.

There was no longer a point in hoping for her return. In many ways, this truth cut him more deeply than her departure ever did. Before today, there had been some chance that she might come back to him. It was a small chance, but it gave him a reason to keep living, to eat and sleep when he could, and to try — fruitlessly — to compose his music. Seeing the proof of her approaching nuptials lent a finality to the situation that had not been there before. No longer was the ending of his love story indefinite, something that could someday continue, an ellipsis in the middle of a sentence. It was a period, cold and harsh and immediate. His part in the life of the only woman he had ever loved had come to a close. He would never hear her voice again, never see her beautiful smile. He would never talk with her as they used to talk, about her hopes and most secret dreams. He would never know the joy of seeing her in a wedding dress, beaming at him because she was to spend the rest of her life with him. He would never grow old with her, never walk arm in arm with her on a Sunday afternoon. Christine would marry her darling Vicomte and live happily ever after. She would bear his children, share his life, and live as a Vicomtesse should. She, the most perfect princess, had found her happily ever after in the arms of a dashing young prince, and escaped the monstrous villain.

Never mind that for years of her life, he had been an Angel.

Erik was completely, utterly, and irrevocably alone.

And now that he had tasted, if only for a few years, what it was to have someone else to live for…someone he cared about…he wasn't sure if he could stand living with only shadows for company any longer.

His vision clouded over in shades of red. Shooting pains tormented the backs of his eyes, and he was vaguely conscious of a scream tearing from his chest. His feet were moving, and moving quickly, though he wasn't sure where, until a large gilded mirror appeared before him. There was a crash, the glitter of shattered glass, and suddenly his hand was coated in red.

He looked at the door on the opposite end of her dressing room. He could still stop all of this, and make Christine see that she really did love him. All he had to do was find the de Chagny chapel. He could take back his decision to let her go. He could bring her back home, where she belonged.

But he couldn't make himself do it. Even in this blind rage and grief, he could not harm his dearest love again. He could not take her choice away. She had to want him, or it would be for nothing. And that was no longer possible.

Erik didn't know how he reached the edge of his underground lake. He just knew that the water looked so quiet...and peaceful. Just like the nighttime. The nighttime had always brought him comfort. Perhaps if he stepped in? Just for a moment, anyway. He would go up to his knees…and then his chest…and then let the cool, inky feeling of the water slip over his head. And he would rest like that.

Just for a few minutes.

But then, the darkness had always called to him. Maybe this time he would let it take him.