Welcome to yet another story! I suppose it's movie-based, as you will see, but please imagine your favorite stage Phantom and Christine instead of Butler and Rossum. That would make it so much better. :) Enjoy!
Touching Light
The air was bated, waiting for something, and the snow that fell softly intensified the sheer silence. The snow blanketed the slabs of stone, covering the names and dates, taking away identities. It fell on the statues, who watched the ground with reverent eyes. There had been nothing today, no mourners to watch the ground solemnly before slowly walking away. The snow lay, undisturbed, and it dulled itself with the gray coverings of the sky. The snow waited. The statues waited. The very air waited.
All direction was turned to the young woman who entered the graveyard, apparently alone and looking very lost. The snow immediately graced her with its presence, and the air broke around her. Statues turned their gazes toward her, watching as she slowly made her way through the stone and trees.
She was searching for something, searching for some kind of help and comfort. Neither the snow nor air nor statues could help her, yet that was all she had for company. Her blue dress dragged heavily through the snow, and the dark red scarf that hung about her neck suggested something else on the young woman's mind. She stopped in front of a tall grave, and she simply stood, lost in thought.
The man who lay in the grave had been more than simply a father. He had been her best and only friend, confidante, mother, and cherished companion all in one. His very world revolved around the sad, strange young woman, who wilted when he was put here. Her very world revolved around him throughout the years. The statues watched emotionlessly as she wiped a fast-falling tear from her cheek.
I need your help, Father.
Yet the last time he had wanted to help her, he sent her an Angel of Music, who was still just as strange and mysterious as he was when she first heard him. He had to be an Angel, for no mere man could posses a voice like his, but yet he was a man. She had seen him and felt his long fingers touch her. However, that night beneath the Opera House remained a foggy memory. He enchanted her, clouded her senses with sweet words and whispers, drugged her with his voice. But the next morning, and his face…Perhaps he was simply an alluring demon. His costume at the Masquerade Ball suggested as much, yet even then he spoke and walked just as a normal man would. Her head spun, and she gasped in the cold, waiting air. If such a man as he existed, what role did she play in his twisted existence? What could she possibly have to offer him?
The young woman passed a white hand over her equally pale face before looking back at the grave, praying for the help that she wanted and needed. This time was about her father, not her Angel who haunted her subconscious mind and took over her drifting consciousness whenever she had a moment to spare. Her tracks in the snow were slowly being filled in, and she was as still as the statues that surrounded her. She could remember her father's smiling face, laughing at her as she, a young girl, roamed the seaside. His voice still travelled with her, warning her and encouraging her.
Another voice drifted from the wind. It was soft, alluring, inviting, and she looked in amazement at the grave. Could it be...?
"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance…"
There was a profound silence while she looked up at the gravesite. With hesitation, she answered the heavenly voice, questioning it as well:
"Angel or Father – friend or phantom – who is it there, staring?"
And it called to her with such desperation and beauty that she felt no fear in climbing closer to it. Light spilled on her face, warming her, a heavenly light that seemed to come directly from the mausoleum itself. The voice took her in and reprimanded her.
"Angel of Music, you denied me, turning from true beauty."
For one small, glorious moment, there was an Angel of Music, and he called to her gently, telling her of her father's love and approval. She accepted the Angel's voice, destroying the horrid image of the Phantom, and continued toward the light.
"No, Christine, wait!"
Another voice – this one urgent and hurried. She wanted to look, but the Angel was more insistent now, and it did not let her go. I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music.
"Wait! Christine!"
There was a thundering of hooves. Someone forcefully grabbed her and turned her around, and the spell was broken. Suddenly there was no light, no Angel, no voice, and her father was gone. The air was again cold and frigid, and she saw Raoul's worried expression before her.
"Raoul!" she gasped, unable to explain.
He pressed her arm and said quickly, "Whatever you believe, this man – this thing – is not your father!"
A shadow materialized over them, and it separated the young woman and man. There was a flash and the sound of metal, and soon the shadow and Raoul were away from the mausoleum. The statues watched their contest with Christine, who stood only for a moment before hurrying after them.
"Stop, please!" she shouted, running after the pair, who had moved farther away.
The air was alive now, crackling and fiery as the two men danced around each other, their swords clashing violently. Both moved flawlessly, confident in his ability. It was known, unspoken, that this contest would be decided by luck.
Without wasting time, the shadow spun quickly, his black cloak whipping out behind him, and from its depths he struck. There was a shower of red blood and an agonized shout as Raoul staggered for a moment, looking at his damaged right arm.
"No!" Christine shrieked, watching the men. "No – stop! Raoul! Phantom!"
She took a few steps closer, wanting to touch one of them, to calm them, but the sharp, cruel-looking blades held her at bay.
"Step back, Christine!" the Phantom barked, throwing a smoldering glance at her. Raoul took the opportunity, and the Phantom hissed as he saw the injury in his own right forearm.
"Now we see you are no ghost!" Raoul said defiantly. "Ghosts do not bleed!"
The struggle intensified as they continued throughout the graveyard, finally locking themselves in a tight corner. Christine stood near them, continuing her pleas with no success. Their swords rose high in the air, slicing it, shoving away the snow, and Christine screamed, taking a step forward as the blades came down.
"Stop – stop it! Phantom – Angel – "
Her words were cut off with a sharp gasp. There was a sudden stillness. The air settled and was alive with the anticipation. The snow continued to fall, muffling the sounds and mocking the scene with its serenity. Both men stood staring, their swords still held ready with blood staining the metal. Christine quietly looked down at her dress and saw that the blue was beginning to darken rapidly. Slowly, her hand touched the area, and crimson stained her fingers. She fell to the ground, hot red blood falling onto the white snow. For another moment, surprised silence reigned.
"No," Raoul suddenly whispered, falling to his knees beside her. "Did I…?"
Quickly, the Phantom shoved the young man aside, sending him into the snow. He placed fingers under Christine's neck, his exposed skin as white as the mask that rested on the other half of his face. Slight color came back when he felt a pulse, still strong. He sighed forcefully and touched the damp area, alarmed at the blood loss. With inhuman speed, he gathered her into his arms and stood. The jerk brought Christine back, and her eyes fluttered momentarily. She muttered incoherently, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes.
"Where are you taking her?" Raoul demanded, leaping to his feet. "What are you doing? Give her back to me!"
The Phantom paid him no mind – he didn't have the sense to acknowledge Raoul de Chagny. It was as if he was not there. Nearly running, the masked man carried Christine to the white horse that had moved away from them. With some difficulty, he climbed onto its unsaddled back and nestled Christine against his chest.
"Wait!" Raoul shouted as the horse took off, its hooves kicking up the falling snow. "Wait – Christine!"