Yo. This is my first phanfic (squeal!), but I'm not going to give you the "no flamers" lecture, because you shouldn't flame anyone, no matter how new they are to fanfiction. I've had this story rattling around my head for a while, but I haven't had the courage to type it up until now. Sorry this is a bit short. I love reviews, even if they're just "that's nice". I love constructive criticism too. So . . . review! This is 2004 movie/Kay based. That's about all. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 – Dark Fire

Fire had destroyed the music. He played with the idea in his, and chuckled bitterly at the irony of it all. Fire, one of the main topics of his opera, had burned the opera, his home. And he had done it, it was all his fault. Everything was: the destruction of the opera house, Christine's hatred for him, his own downfall . . . Christine had to hate him now, after all he had done. He ran the events though his mind.

By the time the mob had come to kill him, he had already disappeared. He had wandered aimlessly through his many tunnels and passageways for hours. He had not even thought anything. He had been struck dumb by sorrow and anger.

Finally, he came to box five. Standing alone, he gazed out and the theatre. He was alone. Everyone was long gone, leaving him in eerie solitude. The fire had been extinguished, but most of the velvet seats had been reduced to ash. Bits of crystal and metal from the chandelier lay strewn about the ruins like corpses on a battle field where both sides had lost. Moonlight came from a gaping hole in the ceiling above him and bathed him in its mournful glow. Looking out at this sad scene, looking at what he had caused, brought on a new wave of misery. He turned to walk back into the shadows. The wood on the floor of the box, though, had been weakened by the flames. And the fragile timber gave out under his weight. He fell though and landed on his front on a pile of broken boards and nails. He rolled himself over and stared up at the moon. He knew he was bleeding somewhere and he had broken something in the fall, but he was too angry and exhausted to help himself. It was there he began his thoughts of hatred for himself.

There's no point in me living any longer. He decided. I'm ruined.

"I'm ruined!" he roared at the sky. "Do you hear me? Ruined!"

His mind began flashing pictures of old memories. Something he had always kept in the bottom of the darkest abyss of his brain flooded into his mind's eye.

The first of his birthdays that was actually acknowledged and celebrated had been his fifth. He had come down to dinner, the special one made just for him, and as he did so, broke his mother's most important rule; he had arrived in the dining room without his mask.. His mother's friend was not bothered so much by his face, but his mother flew into a terrible rage. He asked her why he had to wear it anyway, because at that point it was too tight and was very uncomfortable. At that, she grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him up the stairs to the forbidden threshold that was her bedroom. She stood him in front of her mirror.

"Look at yourself!" she had screamed "Look at yourself and see why you must wear a mask!"

In that moment, time in his world stopped. He had always worn the mask, unquestioning, and never setting eyes on a mirror. He had never thought about it before that incident. Then he realized that no one else, not the priest, or his, mother, or her friend, or anyone he ever saw out his window, wore a mask. It had always been a simple fact of life. A fact he had questioned. A question that had an hideous, ugly answer.

At that point, time started itself again, and he threw himself at the reflection. He ignored the blood streaming from his hands and wrists. It was a small price to pay to be rid of that face . . .

His face . . .

"Death, strike now!" he screamed to the heavens from his bed of burnt timber. "Take your willing prey!" Despite his pain, he was still able to yell at a surprising volume.

Then, as he lay there, he heard steps. Wood cracked under feet that were drawing closer and closer to his sprawled-out body. He tried to move his head in the direction of the sound, but suddenly he felt strangely dizzy and tired. Blackness crawled into his vision and he felt feverish.

The footsteps came to a stop next to him, and the wooded crackled as the stranger knelt down. A few minutes past, though he knew not how many, and then he felt himself being enveloped in something warm and soft. He barely noticed the mysterious person lift him up. His consciousness was slipping. But as he was carried from the burnt out inferno of music and memories to welcomed darkness, he muttered words and names, some to himself, and some to Death.