Hiya everyone! Here's a story for y'all. But this isn't my story. This is my friends story. She doesn't have a fanfic profile and she asked me to put up her stories. Well I'm such a nice friend that I let her. Okay, I'm done talking. Read her Story, not mine.

"In my dreams he was always there." Those words spoken by my best friend were so familiar to my ears. I don't know when I became fascinated with the Phantom, but ever since I can remember, I was never afraid of him like the other ballet girls. I always wondered about him, wondering why he kept to the shadows. He was clearly a genius. No one couldn't be and still be able to haunt an opera house. When I was a small child, before Christine came, I always thought about him. The stories appealed to my sense of adventure, I suppose. When the other girls would giggle and scream about him when Buquet or others told tales regarding the Phantom, I never would join them. I couldn't understand why they liked to laugh about the man who would "catch you with his magical lasso". I didn't see why they wanted to revile him and laugh at every chance they got. I found the stories about him quite...mystifying. They attracted me for some strange reason. Perhaps it was because I know my mother had something to do with his coming to the Opera House.

Sometimes when I was walking by myself to or from rehearsals, I felt a presence there...it had to be him. Who else could it be? He started to pay more attention to me when I defended him during one of the times the some other ballet girls were talking about him. They said he was probably an ugly, evil man who only wanted to kill people every chance he got. I broke in at that point, saying why would they thing he was evil and only wanted to kill? There was no reason to believe he was evil. After that, they responded sneeringly how would I know? After all, I was only a girl like themselves, but they were older than me. He was probably very ugly and horrid. And to that I responded that no, he was probably very wonderful and angelic at heart. They just laughed and walked off. I started to cry. A wonderful, musical voice whispered in me ear "Don't cry, little Giry." I stopped startled and looked around me, but there was no one in the room but me- or at least, no one I could see. Later that day, I heard about something that had happened to those girls. Apparently, as they were walking along by themselves, a bucket of water had fallen on them out of nowhere. They had screamed and run in every direction like startled birds scattered by someone walking nearby. I giggled slightly when I heard about it. Somehow I knew it was because they had laughed at me.

Soon, I started to hear a voice when I went to bed at night. It was wonderfully musical, and it sang songs to me as I fell asleep. The last thing I heard every night before sleep claimed me was that voice, so beautiful and angelic, filled with caring love.

Once, when I was taken ill, as I lay in the dormitory, I heard the voice again, singing to me, lulling me to sleep. When I woke up again, I saw a man standing before me, dressed all in black with a white mask covering the right side of his face. At first, I was frightened, because of my illness. Then he shushed me with that beautiful voice of his. He held out a spoon filled with some strange liquid and ordered me to take it. I knew from his tone of voice that I couldn't disobey. I drank it and he removed the spoon from my lips, satisfied. He smoothed back my hair and spoke calming words to me. He started to get up, but it must have showed in my eyes that I didn't want him to. He soothed me, saying that he wasn't leaving. He then started singing to me softly and stroked my head again until I fell asleep. From that point, I gradually improved until I got better. Whatever he gave me must have helped.

I rarely saw him, but when he let me see him, he was always kind and gentle to me. I always knew that I had nothing to fear from him. I was hardly ever afraid of anything anymore, because he was always there for me if and when I needed him, even if I couldn't see him.

Then Christine came to the Opera House. His nightly visits to sing me to sleep gradually decreased in number, then finally went away. I felt his eyes on me less often, as well. Soon, that stopped, too. Christine's voice got better during that time, and I never gave any thought to how it had happened. Then, after Hannibal, when she told me of her Angel of Music, I knew. It was him. He had been my Angel for a time, as well. I knew he was a real man, of course, but I always referred to him in my head as an Angel...to protect him, I had never told the other girls about him, either...

It didn't matter that he had a new person to love and care for. He never really, truly loved me, I suppose. He simply loved me as a friend. But on my part, sometime in those years, even the ones without him, I had grown to love him...to truly love him.

And so, when my best friend expressed her fright of his eyes always being on her, I knew that she had nothing to fear. To calm her, I sang to her, "Don't be frightened."

As I walked with her back to her dressing room, I said softly, so that even Christine couldn't hear, "Am I ever to see you again, Angel?"

That night, as I went to my bed, I noticed something on top of the covers. It was a white rose. Somehow, I knew it was from him, reminding me that even though he had Christine, he would still be there if I really needed him...

I know he loves Christine, but if he ever should need me, I'll be there for him...

If Christine can't love him, I will...I have always loved him. I do hope that Christine can love him back, though...I only want him to be happy. I love him. But, someday, if she can't love him, he could love me. I do wish with all my heart that he loved me...but I shall love him regardless of whomever he loves. He doesn't know it, I suppose, but my heart will always belong to him...I am forever his.

The End

I hoped you liked it! Review please! My friend would be happy!