Unexpected Phantom
What if the Phantom was a woman, and Erik the dancer was the object of her dark plans?
Disclaimer – I obviously don't own Phantom of the Opera, this is just a fanfic made for all POTO fans. I am not (unfortunately) making any money from it.
Hey guys this is my first fanfic, please R and R so I can improve!
"Hurry for goodness' sake! We can't be late, not again!" Two young boys rushed through the winding back corridors of the enormous Opera Populaire, expertly dodging props and other obstructions, as they had done day upon day, for years. The larger boy ran in front, his dirty, messy blonde mop of hair tangling as he ran, brown eyes sparkling in the excitement. The smaller, younger boy followed, and though he had fewer muscles than his companion, he kept pace far more easily, almost dancing round the corners with a grace the blonde did not possess. His gleaming, thick black curls bounced on his head, and his golden eyes gleamed with mirth and intelligence. "Mark, how can I possibly hurry when you run at the pace of a snail?" the younger enquired with a teasing smile, "Oh shut up Erik, you know full well you can barely keep up with me!" Mark retaliated, giving two passing ballet girls a saucy wink. Erik grinned, and as the boys rounded the final corner he leapt up, pushed off the side of a plaster cast horse in the hallway, and landed neatly in front of Mark. Before the humiliated boy had time to react, they had stumbled onto the main stage, where almost all the Opera's acting, singing and dancing workforce were gathered to rehearse the latest show, Robert le Diable.
Slinking through the maze of costumes and half-finished props, Erik and Mark attempted to smoothly take a place at the back of the dancing group; however this plan backfired when the eagle-eyed dance mistress, Madame Giry, spotted the pair. "You two! Erik and Markus! Come here!" she barked, causing the entire group to turn and face the poor souls that Giry would crucify. Faces burning, they made their way to stand before her. "And just WHAT did you think you were doing hmm?" She intoned, her face so close to hers they could smell her vile breath. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that a vein throbbed in her forehead, and she carried a cane with which she was known to hit her dancers. It was now tapping quietly on the floor, "Well? You are late. How dare you! For the third time this month, you two are late!" she dealt them both a sharp whack across the head with her deadly cane, "If you are so confident with the dance that you feel you may be late to MY LESSON then you can lead it!" she hissed with a smirk, and she stood back to watch what she was sure to be a disaster. Erik, spurred to prove her wrong, launched himself into the dance with passion and precision, spinning from one move to the next with flawless grace. The other male and female dancers tried to keep up, but only a few could match his skill. When he finally settled into the finishing pose, Giry gave four short claps, to signal her pleasure. This was the highest compliment she ever gave. Erik and Mark, who had been able to keep up with Erik, gave satisfied smirks, and threw themselves into the dance for the next hour.
The dancers were utterly absorbed in their own world until a vile noise cut into their bubble of ballet, and all the stage turned to observe what was surely another temper tantrum, from the Opera's leading male singer, Piangi. Like a fat peacock he strutted about the stage, barking orders like a child, leering at the slutty girls who clamoured and fought for his attention and his bed. "I wonder what's wrong with the squealing pig this time" wondered Mark's attractive dancing partner, Meg, as she rested on Mark's arm. Occasionally Erik wondered if there was more in the relationship of the pretty blonde Meg, Madame Giry's only daughter, and his friend, but he always dismissed the rumours he heard, for he knew Mark would always tell him the truth, for they were the best of friends. Piangi was complaining, "... and my costume, it is too tight, look at it, it is making me look fat, it is the wrong colour, and it is has too few jewels, and..." "Good grief, does the man never shut up?" Erik muttered, gaining an appreciative snort from the dancing class. Little did they know, the stage was being watched...
A shadowy figure passed above them, observing Piangi as he whined and stamped. A white mask gleamed atop a figure otherwise clothed in black, leather gloved hands gripping the ropes, a sinister character, balanced like a monkey, high above the light. A cascade of thick black hair fell around the mask, snaking around the face of the woman who bent downwards, to gaze at the scene below. Suddenly, the woman rose, and silently slunk away into the dark ceilings from whence it came...