Chapter 1:A Love That Conquers All

Disclaimer: i do not own POTO

"Mmmhhh…" I groaned as I cautiously moved my head slowly. The mattress I was on fit to my body like a heavenly cloud. I felt like I was in heaven. But…why? How? What had happened to me? More importantly... where was I? What happened to my uncomfortable lumpy bed? I've never felt something that was as soft as this. What happened to me last night?

I performed in the gala, instead of Carlotta. What an experience! It was beyond amazing. The rush of performing and the audience cheers was...it was...soul-lifting. Of course I am so exhausted!Then Madame Giry gave me a rose. That was confusing in its self. I first thought that it was a token from my Angel, but it couldn't have been. Unless angels make objects appear. And communicate with ballet mistresses. I conversed with Meg about my angel a bit. Typical Meg,she believes in phantoms and not angels.

Memories flooded back to my mind. The Phantom. The tormenter of the opera house… The terrorizer… The schemer…my Guardian. My ANGEL. My Protector and teacher for all these years. He is a man of flesh and blood, AND the phantom of the opera. And yet that doesn't frighten me, nothing about him frightens me. How could something make me turn my back on my best friend and teacher, the most important being in my life?All I could think of was that I can touch him,feel him. Like I did last night. Oh, that thought sent heat to my face as I thought of how he held me go gently and lovingly. It was as if last night, we became connected to each other. It felt like a magnetic pull towards each other. It felt like...it felt like...love? Was that possible? To be in love after a brief encounter? Although, it can't be that far fetched.I've known him for eleven years, since I was seven. What other emotion could this be? I felt like I was slowly imploding by being away from him. Was it possible that the dark and sensual man I was with loves me, nothing but a poor orphaned opera rat? He said " you belong to me... Touch me, trust me..."Imagine it. Me, Christine Daaé, a nobody turned star in one night, lover to the infamous Opera Ghost. But I don't want to be some man's whore. I want an unconditional love, someone who would be with me from earth to heaven. I've wanted it since i was a little girl and the wish never went away with age. My parents, bless their souls, had that kind of love. Wait! The wedding dress! On a mannequin that looked exactly like me! He wants my love! Why else would he have a WEDDING DRESS, on a mannequin, that LOOKS LIKE ME! All the signs pointed to it! When he was an angel, we had known each other for years and I loved him as a companion, but as two grownups ( well I'm eighteen and not a child!),we defiantly needed more time to know each other.

After my inner battle and monologue, I decided it was time to rise. I reached for what looked like a black laced pulley that hung from great black curtain all around me. As the curtain rose, a music box, in the shape of a monkey, played Masquerade from the Opera House's annual Bal Masque. The tune stopped as I threw off the covers and walked cautiously out of the rocky alcove. Candle light bounced on to the lake and then to the walls all over the lair. Beautiful artifacts were seen from every corner of the place. I bet you couldn't even see these things in museums, but they must be beyond priceless. The whole place had this unearthly glow, like the lair was a magical world out of a storybook, not heaven nor hell. I was gazing around, scanning the area for some human life when I saw him . He was on the other side of the lair at the gigantic organ. His back was turned toward me and I couldn't see his face. His jet black hair was so shiny and looked so soft, I wondered what it would feel like to run my hands through it . Some of these romantic thoughts surprised me, but I had grown up with female ballet rats after all.

My inner thoughts were suddenly cut short by an extremely gorgeous pair of deep green eyes staring back at me. My angel's lips were slightly parted in shock, and I realized that mine were parted as well. It was just that… he's was so handsome, even with his mask. Why does he wear one? I left that thought alone and refocused on his so beautiful.

As soon as he looked at me, he looked away and bent his head down. In his eyes I thought they held…embarrassment maybe? What could he have to be embarrassed of? Anyway, I was dying to see his face again. As I came up to him, I gently rested my hand on his shoulder to alert him of my presence. His white porcelain mask blocked me from seeing his true face. I wanted nothing more than to take it off. What if he was hiding something under there and didn't want me to see? I am extremely curious, but I think he'd consider the removal of his mask an extreme breach of privacy. That doesn't mean I could control my hand as I reached out to cup his face and run my fingers over his face. I was so close that I could smell his entrancing cologne. He smelled of a warm type of musk and a foreign spice that I couldn't identify. In a way he smelled...safe. His eyes slowly closed as he leaned into my touch. He lifted his hand to cover mine and turned his head to kiss my over turned palm. As he breathed in, I reveled in the sensation of his lips. Then in his deep silky tenor voice he whispered, "Oh, Christine." Just hearing my name sent waves of pleasure down my spine, not to mention the feeling of the kiss. I instantly felt a warmth spread from my inner core and toes to every part of my body. It was pleasure and pure contentment. I whispered in a breathless voice,"Angel."

At first, he didn't answer me. I suppose he was very content to not move as well because he hadn't moved at all since I touched him. "Angel," I said a little louder so he could hear.

"My dear, please, I am no angel," he declared softly.

"Well, what are you then?" I asked. Hell of a question Christine! What do you want him to say? Magic fairy? Unicorn?

"Oh, Christine," he whispered again,"If only you knew." He removed his hands and mine from his face and held them in his. He pulled me closer as he stared at our intertwined hands.

"Please," I breathed, "tell me your name?"

"Erik. My name is Erik, though not many people ever called me that."

"What do you mean?" I asked, not thinking before I spoke.

"Well, my dear, take your pick. The Phantom, Opera Ghost, the Trapdoor Lover… and many."

"Oh, right." You already knew that! You bloody idiot!

"How did you sleep? Was your bed satisfactory?"

"Oh," I said surprised "it was fantastic. Your home is very beautiful."

"Hmmm. Would you like something to eat? It must have been awhile since you've eaten something." Only then did I realize the growing empty pain originating from my stomach.

"Um, yes please." With that, he slowly rose from the organ bench and stood up, still holding one of my hands, and lead me to another large alcove. It contained a well decorated and elegant dinner table that could easily fit eight people. I took a notice to the hand holding mine. A musician's hands, I guessed, he probably had many talents. Papa would have loved Erik, I thought. His hands were quite warm despite the cold atmosphere, and it surprised me how well our hands fit together. He held out the chair closest to us and motioned for me to sit down. I expected him to ask what I liked, but instead he left me to walk through a velvet red curtain. When he came back he had a tray with assortment of fruits, breads and cheeses. And he had what looked like a bottle of wine in his other hand. He deposited the food on the table and set up a table setting for me. I inwardly smiled at his gestures, a girl could get used to this. Not just the service part, the Erik part. Erik. It even sounded great in my mind. I muttered a thank you and surveyed my options. My favorite fruits, including strawberries, my favorite breads, including toasted Italian bread, and almost every kind of cheese that I loved. Erik remained standing and observing the entire time.

"Won't you join me Erik?"

"I'm afraid I must decline my dear."

"Well, um, at least,sit with me?" I slightly begged, wanting to be closer to him. He seemed uneasy at first.

"There is nothing you could ask me that I would refuse," he I blushed and my smile reached the outside of my body. He sat across from me and began to watch me with a gaze that made me feel slightly uncomfortable, and safe at the same time. I wondered why he wouldn't join me in eating. My gazed flew from my meal to his face, only to catch him still gazing at mine. The question must have been in my eyes, for he said "You have a question Christine?"

"Huh? Oh, well… won't you eat with me?"

"Non ma Cherie. I have, uh, have already eaten."

"Oh, d'accord" I said looking down again. After I had finally finished and wiped my mouth,daintily as any women should, Erik noted and asked if I would like a tour.

"That would be lovely." I replied. Once again he rose from his chair and offered me his hand. As we walked around his lair, I took note of many things. There were sheets of music everywhere, props that have been rumored to have disappeared in the Opera House, and many other beautiful objects. And in a small corner of the side of a table was a beautiful charcoal drawing of a young girl. As I saw this, my hand slipped out of his and I came to closer examine the artwork. My eyes traveled over the many drawings and paintings beside it. They seemed to all be of the same subject. A little girl. And with every painting, she grew older and more stunning...until she looked like me. I stood there silently stunned as my own eyes looked back at me from the ink and charcoal. I heard Erik move up beside me.

"Erik?"

"Yes."

"They're all…me"

"Yes." he answered.

"They're exquisite." I looked over to him to see a look of surprise seeping out of the cracks in his cool demeanor. I guessed I surprised us both with my reaction in the situation. I was in the home of a man who has lied and watched me for more than 11 years (AN: Christine is 18, but she will be mature even for her age,Erik will be 32),that fact alone was bound to frighten anyone in my situation. Plus, I've discovered that he has drawn dozens of picture of me, which is bound to only heighten the uneasiness of the situation. Yet, I am gladly surprised with the fact that I must have been important to him after all these years.

"Thank you. I have always tried to…capture your beauty and innocence, but I have never truly succeeded." My gaze traveled up to his face with a look of surprised love. No one has ever regarded me with such care. Except for my Papa, I had long forgotten what that felt like. He must have sensed that I was watching him and left in the other direction.