My first attempt at a fanfic

I do not own anything recognizable, sadly

The Opera Populaire was in chaos.

Audience members were scrambling out of their seats. Dancers were shrieking with utter fright and, stagehands were running as far away as possible from the stage. Everybody was panicking and sprinting as fast as their legs could carry them, hoping to avoid being crushed or cut with glass as the chandelier came crashing from the roof towards the stage.

Christine was frozen to the spot from so many different feelings. She could hear his maniacal laughter ring through the auditorium, and sent shivers down her spine. It terrified her hearing his melodious voice making the sounds of a madman. Christine just couldn't understand. First Carlotta's croaking, and then Bouquet hanging above the stage, eyes wide open in fear and his face contorted into a terrifying mask of death. She was shaking her head trying to fight back tears at the image. What was her angel doing? Why?

"GO!" The loud voice boomed across the opera house.

In a split second Christine saw the chandelier coming crashing towards her. Her head was spinning as she felt her knees buckle beneath her, and the last thing she heard was the shattering glass before blackness enveloped her.

"Is she going to be okay?" Raoul asked worriedly. He twisted his fingers as he paced across floor outside Christine's dressing room nervously.

Madame Giry sighed and turned to the young Vicomte. "Monsieur, you are going to wear a hole in the floor!" she snapped, her patience just about gone. She'd had just about enough of his incessant questions. Raoul looked back at her with his nervous blue eyes. Madame Giry sighed yet again.

"I understand you are worried Monsieur, but Mlle. Daae's injuries were not severe." She said to him, trying to alleviate some of his worries, conjuring her most soothing voice. It only worked to some degree.

Before the Vicomte could respond, the doctor came out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

"Well sir?" Raoul exclaimed impatiently. Madame Giry did her best not to shoot him a glare for his rudeness.

The doctor pulled his spectacles off before replying "Mlle. Daae woke up briefly, but is currently sleeping. She merely fainted from the stress of this event and has some minor cuts from the chandelier glass."

Raoul both sighed in relief and Madame Giry spoke up "Did she say anything when she woke up?"

The doctor shook his head "Nothing coherent, she mumbled something about an angel before drifting off into sleep."

The Vicomte shot his head up at this. He narrowed his eyes "Why would she speak of him? And after what he has done now?"

Both the doctor and Madame Giry sensed his sudden anger and this revelation. Madame Giry knew Raoul's interrogating was the last thing Christine needed now.

"Perhaps it would be best you see her tomorrow Monsieur le Vicomte?" She suggested "Mlle. Daae will probably not awaken for a while anyhow, so you may as well take your leave."

Raoul looked hesitant, but when he saw the ballet mistress's stern look, he walked away with a nod of his head.

Christine felt dizzy as woke to see the doctor there examining her arms. She was barely conscious but she could tell there were a few lines of blood on them. Christine could not hear the doctor's questions over her own thumping heartbeat. She broke into a cold sweat when she remembered how she got these cuts. Her angel had seemed insane. He had killed Bouquet. Christine knew Joseph Bouquet was a revolting man, spying on the ballerinas all the time, but she thought sadly to herself 'why did her angel kill him'. No, she shouldn't call him angel anymore. An angel doesn't kill. Her angel didn't commit this murder; it was the Phantom of the Opera. Her angel was the one who gave her her voice, the one she confided everything in. Christine trusted her angel above everyone else, including Meg. But that night he revealed himself to her changed everything.

"Angel please," she mumbled "Why angel?"

Christine fluttered her eyes a bit and saw the doctor leave the room.

She thought back to that night she first met him in person. Christine had often dreamed that her Angel of Music was flesh and blood, and when he came to her in her mirror she was mesmerised.

It was also when she realised he was the dreaded Opera Ghost.

Even now, looking back, she should have been terrified, but she never was. She thought about those golden eyes, piercing her soul with so much intensity, that she had a strange flutter in her stomach, and those long elegant hands. Those musician's hands, she wondered what they would feel like upon her-

Christine shot up. She shook her head in disgust. How could she think that way? She had only hours ago declared her supposed love for Raoul. The Phantom was a killer, and his temper scared her to no end; and his face...

Christine rubbed her temples. She knew she shouldn't have pulled off his mask. But she so wanted to see his face, she had heard the beauty of his music, and she wanted to see her angel's beautiful. Christine didn't know what lay underneath. Afterwards he had raved and cursed at her, while she sat on the ground sobbing, feeling every insult cut at her.

Christine knew that it wasn't his face she was scared of, and her cheeks burned in shame at describing the Phantom's face to Raoul. She was hysterical at that point. Christine had never been so terrified after seeing the dead man hang from the rafters. She didn't know what to think

And when Raoul offered his love to her, offering to protect her, she couldn't say no.

"And besides, at least Raoul doesn't induce such scandalous thoughts," Christine mumbled to herself. Snuggling herself into the couch

Christine knew this was a good thing. Raoul was safe.

When Nadir finally entered Erik's lair, he was shocked at the state of it.

Everything was tossed about, furniture, books, papers, artwork.

In the middle of the mess he saw Erik sitting there glaring at his mask.

"What do you want Daroga, I'm in no mood to deal with you," He spat.

Nadir stepped closer "Erik, what on earth has happened to your stuff?"

Erik gave a bitter laugh that froze Nadir where he stood. "She betrayed me Persian, my little Christine, running into that De Chagney fop's arms." Erik slowly stood up and stalked over to the Persian. "And what do I do? I crash the chandelier on the stage." Erik's visible side of his face turned an angry shade of purple "I wanted to kill that insolent boy, swooping in and stealing my Christine with is charms and handsome looks." he sneered.

"Erik" Nadir sighed "You cannot control who Christine loves, and you said there would be no more murders."

"I have no idea what you're talking about Daroga,"

"The stagehand who was hanging from the rafters over the stage Erik! You killed him!"

"The stupid fool was trying to catch me," Erik hissed "He wanted to play hero, by catching the Opera Ghost. The world is a better place without that pervert"

Nadir just shook his head "You still didn't answer me. What happened to your lair?"

"Daroga get out now before I kill you." Erik warned in a cold tone

"Erik-"

"GET OUT NOW!" He roared.

"May Allah help you," Nadir muttered before walking away.

Erik sunk back down, and couldn't stop the tears leaving his eyes

"Oh, Christine,"

Well how was Chapter 1 of my short story?