This story is rated M for some violence, coarse language, and adult themes.

It is not appropriate for readers under the age of 16 and should not be viewed by such.

Disclaimer—This story is the property of Jordan A. Masters and may not be reproduced in any way, shape, or form without express written permission of Jordan A. Masters, which can be obtained through email. It has not been posted for gain or profit. Some of the characters have been borrowed from Andrew Lloyd Webber's play and movie, The Phantom of the Opera, and I do not own these borrowed characters. Also, some lyrics have been borrowed from Webber's play, with slight modifications—I do not own these lyrics, even though I have modified them.

Paris, France—April 17, 1871

Celeste—6:30 PM

"Oh, heavens, Celeste—you're not wearing that to the opera!"

I looked down at myself. "This is the same gown I've worn to every important thing, Mother. I see no reason to change."

"Precisely because he has already seen you in it. You see no reason to dress nicely for Amédée, do you, child?"

"Nicely, yes. Ridiculously, no." I shook my head and put on my shoes. "Mother, he has already asked me to marry him—what more do I need to do to impress him? What call is there now? You have proven your point—your spinster daughter can still fetch a man if she so chooses." She said nothing. I had made my point.

When the rest of the family was ready—Father, Gregoire and his wife, Simon and his wife, and Mother—we set out from the hotel for the Opéra Populaire. Simon had been talking about the new opera for months—he and his business partner, my fiancé Amédée Leroux, had procured tickets for the premiere. As I spotted Amédée waiting by the entrance, my stomach did a flip. He was quite handsome, dressed as he was—formal evening dress, the de rigueur opera fashion. I watched him tug at his collar, but with the bow tie, it didn't budge. Once he spotted us, he walked down toward us, shaking hands and saying his hellos.

I smiled as he got to me. "You look quite handsome, Amédée."

He bowed, doffing his hat at the same time. "Merci, Celeste." He held his arm out to me, and I took it. We followed my family up the stairs to the entrance, where Simon produced the tickets, and we were led to our seats. I smiled as I realized they were in the front row—he'd been so secretive about where the seats were, and now I knew why.

It wasn't much longer before the curtain opened and the show began. I leaned over to Amédée. "What's the name of this opera again?"

He smiled, leaning toward me. "Don Juan Triumphant. It's a new composition—I've never heard it before, but André and Firmin must think it's good if they're putting it on, right?"

I nodded, turning back toward the stage. Before I could take a moment to realize what the plot was, I spotted the young lead soprano—and was shocked. Christine Daaé, the fiancée of the Vicomte de Chagny? Surely, someone had to be joking—but no, she was the lead. And she was at least decent—better than the house's last soprano, at any rate.

I was thoroughly enjoying the show by the time I realized it must nearly be the end. I at least appreciated the libretto being written in French—I could understand it. But somehow the melodies, the lyrics, were recognizable—perhaps just too clichéd. But no—it was something else—I could feel it. I'd heard this before. This song about flames and passing the point of no return—I'd heard it before.

And the tenor…with a start, I realized that the man singing the song was not the same man that had been singing for the rest of the show. I recognized the voice—but from where…?

As the music reached the crescendo, I watched the young soprano pull the mask from her leading man's face—revealing a horrible visage beneath. The crowd erupted into screams—even Amédée and my family were screaming beside me—but I could only stare, now realizing why I knew the voice. "Erik…oh, mon frère, what have you done?"

With an angry cry, I watched him cut two ropes. A third cut sent him plunging into the stage, clinging to Christine and dragging her with him—they fell through a hole and were gone. Through the screams, I could hear cracking from above. I looked up.

The chandelier was swinging wildly, and as I watched, it started to come down. People now began pushing to get out of its way, but I could go nowhere, stuck in the middle of the row, frozen in fear. I heard a vicious cackle, more in my head than in reality. "Oh, mon frère…" I smiled—he'd always promised to free me from my nightmares.

So I didn't bother to move.