Disclaimer: I do not own the masterpiece that is The Phantom of the Opera. Not the book, the play, or the movies. I do, however, own Angel of Music Once More.
The show was over, and Christine Daae was so tired she was happy she didn't black out on stage. She walked through the crowds and into her dressing room, which was filled with flowers. Christine picked up a single flower from her dresser. A note was attatched.
Christine, you sang wonderfully tonight. I'll be there soon to pick you up for dinner. I love you.
Raoul
She smiled, and started to walk for the bathroom door. She needed to change. Then, out of the blue, like so many times before, he made his presence known. From the deep bowels of the Opera House, she heard an all too familiar voice. The voice was soft and hard to make out. It was choked between sobs.
"Masquerade…
Paper faces on parade . . .
Masquerade.
Hide your face,
so the world will
never find you…
Masquerade…
Every face a different shade . . .
Masquerade.
Look around -
there's another
mask behind you…"
Christine sighed, feeling overcome with grief at that sorrow-filled voice. She sat on her bed and began to sing the fateful song that had once locked her and her angel of music together, not too long ago…
"Angel, I hear you!
Speak,
I listen.
Stay by my side,
Guide me!
Angel, My soul was weak
Forgive me,
Enter once more,
Master!"
She waited for his response. What seemed like hours, but was really only moments, passed by until she heard her answer.
"Wandering child,
You denied me,
Ran from the angel,
And his song.
Deceiving child,
You betrayed me,
And what's this now?
You ask for me, love?"
"Angel of music,
Hide no longer,
Enter in your glory!
Angel, once more I say to you
My soul was weak,
Forgive me…
Enter once more,
Master!"
"Flattering child,
You shall see me (once more)
See why I lie here
In tears,
You know the way to find me,
Enter once more!
Down below!"
Christine blinked back tears and reached for her mirror with a trembling hand. She walked through the secret passageway, stepping on something that crunched. She looked down and found a dozen red roses lying on the ground. "My God…he brought these for me…but never had the strength to bring them in. My God this man…he still loves me."
She slowly started to make her way down the steps and deeper into the Phantom's hell. She found that there was no longer a boat, and she had to wade her way through the dark rivers of the Opera alone.
When once again she found the Phantom's lair, it had changed since her last visit. Paintings of Christine were everywhere, some torn and destroyed, some left in perfect condition. His model of her seemed to have been broken and poorly fixed.
She heard faint sobs coming from the back room. Slowly and fearfully, she mounted the steps. She didn't know if she was ready once again to see that horrid face. The doorway to the back room was closer now, and she reached for it blindly.
Thank God, the Angel's mask was in place. But even so, he looked terrible. Tears streaked his cheeks; his face was white, and his hands shaking. He looked terribly ill. "Christine…" came the voice of the Angel.
"What horrors have happened to you, love?" she sat down beside him, her fears floating away. This man needed her help.
He turned his face away from her, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. "Why have you come looking for me?"
Christine gently touched his face, feeling the heat of his fever. "You're hot."
"You haunted me."
"You're shaking, love."
"Every day since that night."
"How did you get so sick?"
"Every night…"
"Come with me." she gently helped him to his feet and led him to his bed. She tucked him in with almost motherly love, and again felt his fever. "You need rest now, don't worry about a thing." She smiled, though she herself had many worries resting unpleasantly in her stomach.
His eyelids began to slip shut. In half-sleep he whispered, "Christine, I love you…"