A/N

This story is my first, so I do hope you all enjoy it. Constructive Criticism is welcome as well.

Btw, imagine these people as the characters because having as cast is fun

Erik – Michael Crawford

Christine – Gina Beck

Raoul – Ramin Karimloo

Description: What if the Phantom didn't let Christine go after she kissed him? What would Raoul do? – ALW Based

Chapter 1

The soft, almost tranquil sound of waves hit the side of the gondola with gentle sloshes. The water was calm tonight, although its master holding the pole that pushed the boat through the water was not.

Fear… Unmistakable fear filled the unnervingly calm atmosphere, though not coming from the master, oh no, it was coming from the heap of messy curls and ripped material at the foot of the gondola. It was Christine Daae, Paris' newest leading lady of the opera stage, pulled off the stage just minutes ago by her now mask-less captor.

"Why do you ask why I was bound down here for eternity to this cold and dismal place? No one should have to live down here, Christine."

Christine cowered into the floor of the gondola, trying to hide from her captor's harsh, almost screaming tone.

"Oh, but I am not just anyone! I am a monster in the kindest of terms, all thanks to my God forsaken face!"

He leaned down to her level, his eyes flashing wildly.

"Nobody loved me, nobody cared! and just when I thought perhaps you did, you betray me once more… Why do you do this to me, Christine, Why?" He roared into her ear.

Those words spun around in Christine's mind for a moment, questioning. Why? Why did she do it? Why did she steal his mask away like that? But she knew why, she just didn't want to admit it to him.

She had wanted to create a diversion. So she could escape from the man who had deceived and lied to her in so many ways. She had just wanted to be rid of him, to be back safe in her beloved's arms once more.

But then again, if she had just stood there for much more time, the Gendarmes surely would have stopped him somehow; perhaps Erik would have gotten shot. Even as much as Christine fears him, she just couldn't have allowed that to happen to him. But why?

Christine's thoughts were cut short as the boat hit the shore of Erik's home with a swift thump. Christine moved quickly, leaping out of the boat and backing against the rock wall beside Erik's prized Organ. The soft candlelight giving the lair a warm, welcoming feeling. Too bad it was much less welcoming to her now than when she had first seen it.

"Welcome to your new home, my dear," Erik said advancing towards her in slow, seemingly calm strides. Christine trembled as walked past her to the mannequin clothed in a pure white wedding gown perched on a brass pedestal connected to the frame of a shattered mirror. Christine shuttered at the memory of seeing the doll that mirrored her every feature for the first time.

In one swift jerk, he ripped the gown from the mannequin and threw it at her, ignoring her wide eyed expression.

"Put it on," he growled, low and menacing.

"Wha… What," Christine gasped, hugging the heavy gown to her chest modestly.

"Put. It. On." He growled again, turning to face her, "After all," he smirked, "every bride needs a wedding dress doesn't she?"

Ignoring Christine's wide eyed stare, he turned; his back to her, indicating that he was still was still partially the modest gentleman she had once known him as.

With one fearful look at Erik, who had his back still turned, Christine pulled off her massive dress she had worn for her character in Don Juan, now a tattered mess and kicked it into the corner distastefully..

'Interesting,' Christine thought. Her character, Aminta, that was written for her, was pretty much her polar opposite. Blatant, flirtatious…

Perhaps that what was what he wanted, Christine thought bitterly as she pulled on the heavy wedding gown, stuffing her arms into the sleeves, to act out that seduction with him, so he could try to lure her to his side once more.

Christine felt disgusted; he had used her in such as vile way for his benefit!

And now she is to be his wife…

Hooking up the back of the gown and twisting the layered silk skirts in order, Christine felt despair and hopelessness as she looked upon the gown sadly.

Raoul… Oh what had become of her beloved? Would she ever see his face again? Would she ever be held in his strong arms again?

She doubted it, glancing at Erik, who looked as though he was growing impatient with each passing minute. The evidence showing through his rigid posture.

He would surely keep her here for all eternity, if he had his way. Christine suddenly felt anger bubbling inside her as she gazed at the man who would soon be her husband.

"So what happens now?" She asked sarcastically, her words breaking the awkward silence between them, "am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh and blood?"

Erik whirled around, looking caught off guard by her tone for a moment. Christine savored the feeling, it felt good to stand up for herself at last, she was tired of being constantly pushed around all the time, the feeling was foreign and felt amazing.

But sadly, her new found confidence didn't last long, for Erik had strode up to her and roughly seized her wrist, a veil dangling in his one of long skeletal hands as he yanked her closer to him, his hideous face in full view now.

"To answer your question, Christine," he growled, "my face has never allowed me the joys of the flesh. It also made my mother fear and loathe me! She gave me a mask to hide my face because she couldn't even bear to look at me…"

He broke away from her, looked at something in the distance, "Unfeeling scarp of clothing…" he muttered to himself.

Christine felt pity as she looked at the man before her, she reached out, grasped his shoulder to at least show him she was not completely heartless as he made out her out to be.

He spun around, grasped her arm hard enough to bruise.

"Pity can't save you now, Christine, this is your fate," he said shoving the gossamer veil down onto her dark head forcefully.

Christine sighed, tears glistening in her blue eyes, "It's not your face that scares me," she whispered in desperation, clutching onto his jacket's lapels, "your soul is where the true distortion lies, Erik, not your face."

Erik was shaking his head at her, having trouble believing her words. But then it was as if his whole mood changed in seconds. Christine looked into his eyes, puzzled at his now smirking face. He seemed to be gazing at something behind her.

Christine turned quizzically to the portcullis, trying to peer at the sopping wet figure clutching the gate desperately.

"Raoul…" Christine breathed.