is a fantasy piece set during the historical timeline of the Opera Garnier leading up to the actual chandelier crash in 1896. I've tried to keep the historical aspects as accurate as I could but no one is perfect and there may be some continuity issues that slipped past me. Please let me know if there are :) I will throw in the usual disclaimers concerning lack of ownership of any of the characters or plots of any version of The Phantom of the Opera; they all belong to their respective owners. I will also reiterate that I've not read Kay's book and what little understanding I have of the story is based on summaries so I feel free to change things to suit my whims. Also, I've never read the Twilight books. My version of vampires are based on many different myths and legends as well as some made up crap that I threw in because I thought it sounded good. Hopefully you can suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy the story.

1886

The opera house was dark when Christine snuck in through a side door. The ballet rats were tucked away snugly in their dormitory; the stage hands had gone home or passed out behind the larger props. As she walked through the empty building, once more she felt it. That something that pulled her time and again to this place. No, not something. Someone. Her mate lurked within these walls. She could feel him, smell him, sense his presence unlike any other. What she could not do, to her growing frustration, is find him.

1840

Forty-six years earlier…

At the death of his beloved wife, Katerina, during childbirth Helmut Daaé had known despair like nothing he'd ever encountered before. When he buried her in the small parish cemetery, he buried a large part of his heart and soul with her. As the days passed, he cared for nothing but his music and his misery; little Christine was given over to a wet nurse with barely a glance from the man who'd sired her. Even as she grew from an adorable infant into a beautiful child Helmut refused to bestow upon her any kindness or fatherly affection. She had taken his Katerina from him and so he had no use for her. It was during her seventh year when all that changed.

Helmut had been busy composing new music for his precious violin. The child, for he never once called her by name, was finally old enough to stay with the parish priest and be of use; he would be answering the pull of restlessness inside him and put this wretched country behind him. Everything had been arranged with the priest and his family. The girl would stay with them and do whatever work they felt she was capable of and, if he had not returned by the time she was of an age to marry, the priest could arrange whatever he felt was suitable. The old clergyman was horrified at the way Helmut so callously disposed of his daughter but agreed to take her in. What more could he do? Satisfied that all was arranged, he returned to his home to tell the girl to pack her things when he heard the most glorious, pure soprano. Believing his Katerina to have returned to him, Helmut rushed to the house only to find his young daughter singing in the garden while she picked the last of the vegetables before winter draped the small Swedish hamlet under a blanket of snow. The voice of an angel was trapped in the body of the creature who'd stolen his wife! That was when something inside the grieving man snapped. His misery had weighed him down for seven long years; it was only natural in his mind for the voice to come not from his young daughter but from the angel of his beautiful Katerina. She'd returned to him as an Angel of Music and Helmut knew he could not travel without her. He wrote a brief note to the priest, who prayed the man had finally emerged from his grief to care for the child, and left Sweden with the young Christine the next morning.

Helmut Daaé and his daughter traveled throughout Europe, playing and singing for a few coins, a meal, a warm bed for the night. He was an excellent violinist, a virtuoso without compare, but it was his petite blonde angel who entranced the crowds with her crystal clear voice. He still had trouble addressing the child, fearing he'd anger and insult the spirit of his wife, and so he simply called her his angel. In her youth and desperation to win her father's affections, Christine didn't protest. Instead, she soaked up the attention he now bestowed upon her and became utterly dedicated to him.

The years passed and Christine grew from a beautiful child into a stunning young woman. Her voice had matured and was as pure as ever; however, it was now her looks which drew the crowds. By this time, Helmut had grown into an old man: aged more by his misery which bordered on madness than the passage of time. The girl who'd spent half her life being shunned by her father was now left to care for him. Around this time, the wanderlust that had driven her father from Sweden had now taken a firm hold on his daughter. She knew that her father was growing weaker but something pulled her to keep moving; towards what or whom, she knew not. When they traveled to France during her sixteenth year, she knew she was getting closer to the thing that was calling to her. Her dreams became restless and disjointed, filled with images of an imposing man who'd treat her like a princess. She urged her father to make haste to Paris but he had grown ever weaker with their rough sea voyage. When they disembarked, Helmut knew that the small port town would be his final resting place. She had barely reached seventeen when her father finally left the living to rejoin his beloved Katerina. Christine buried him in Perros and left for Paris the next morning.

1850

There were many perils in the large city for a beautiful young woman traveling alone. She dismissed the idea of singing on the streets as she had done with her father for, with no male to protect her, her virtue would be stolen before the first song had finished. Trying to recover her rapidly dwindling funds, Christine began working at various taverns; singing for her room and board or waiting tables if that was all that was available to her. The customers' roaming hands caused her no little amount of distress and she used that as an excuse for her restless nights. Her dreams had intensified, leaving her exhausted and drained, and she felt as if someone or something was calling to her. As she wandered almost aimlessly through the streets of Paris, she greatly feared she was going mad. How could she find something when she didn't even know what it was she was looking for? It was sheer luck that she stumbled across Le Théâtre de Mystère but, once she did, it felt like she was coming home. The music that seeped through the closed door stifled her natural cautiousness and pulled her in; dark, seductive music unlike anything she'd ever heard in her young life. It didn't wrap around her heart like her father's music. No, it clawed its way into her very soul where it ravished her mind as savagely as a rapist would violate her body. Frightened of its intensity, Christine knew she should leave. Instead, she walked through the front door.

The theater itself was as dark and alluring as the music. Draped in curtains of black and scarlet velvet, the stage was partially lit by the many candelabra that encircled it. The effect unnerved Christine as much as it fascinated her for, beyond the first few feet, the stage was lost to the dancing shadows from the flickering lights. And there, off to the side and draped in a cloak of shifting darkness, was a man sitting at the piano. Timidly, she continued to advance until she had cleared the seats, halted by the handrail that bordered the orchestra pit. She gripped the railing tightly, fighting the strange urge to go to him, be with him, belong to him. She didn't see him glancing her way, but the pianist shifted his song into something familiar: "Ach, ich fühl's, es ist verschwunden" from Die Zauberflöte. After the introduction, Christine could swear she heard a voice in her head tell her to sing.

And sing she did. She became one with the music, letting it take over her in ways she'd never allowed while her father lived. She sang of her despair of ever finding someone to love and who loves her. She sang of her great love for the one who called to her, who would take her with him and be with her forever away from all the tedium of everyday life. And when she was finished singing, the man at the piano launched into "Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön" and set her soul on fire. The passion and longing sent a thrill even as it brought tears to her eyes. Christine's young heart, eager for the same fierce love as the one between Tamino and Pamina, fell in willing supplication at the feet of the glorious tenor.

He rose after the last note reverberated into silence. A tall man, he was slim but toned, with hair the color of beaten gold and eyes that glowed red in the candle light. She feasted her eyes on his face, angular but handsome in an unconventional way; his skin was as pale as alabaster. When he held out his hand, Christine couldn't resist going to him. She didn't want to resist for now she knew. He was the one who'd been calling out to her in her dreams. He was the one for whom she'd been searching ever since she blossomed from a girl into a young woman. He was the one. With a nervous smile, Christine took his hand and followed him off the stage. She didn't know this would be the last night she'd spend as a living, breathing human.

xxxx

Julien Montfort felt her long before he heard or saw her. Seventeen years ago, he'd felt that pull, that desire to find his mate, and he knew she'd been born into the world of the humans. Now, after years of waiting for her to grow and mature, she had found him. He continued to play as the door opened carefully, betraying no sound that was audible to mortal ears. She was alone; that was even better. Darting quick glances at her, he realized she was a gorgeous female with long brown hair that hung in riotous curls almost to her waist, innocent brown eyes that reminded him of a fawn, and the body of a petite seductress. Her purity was like a glowing aura which elongated his fangs and made them uncomfortable to continue to hide within his mouth. Her beauty affected him in far more carnal ways; however, and he shifted on the piano bench to ease the discomfort of his suddenly tight trousers. Their souls cried out one to the other, demanding that the bond be sealed and for him to claim his mate.

Seeing how she responded to his music, Julien wondered if she sang or played. As he played the introductory notes for Pamina's aria, he touched her mind and ordered her to sing. The young woman smiled and entered on the appropriate note. She was glorious! Her longing tugged at the heart that had stopped beating decades ago; her voice nearly unmanned him. Here was this absolute angel singing in the devil's own theater and she was his. Julien had abandoned God a century ago but it would have taken the strength found only in that deity to keep him from responding to the despair in her song. He answered her in the best way he knew; he sang. His tenor, slightly hoarse from desire, embraced the young angel and bore her away from her light and into his darkness. He knew that she felt it too, that undeniable, inexplicable something that marked one human out of millions to be the mate of one of his kind. He could wait no longer. Standing suddenly, he held out his hand and waited for her to follow him to her death and rebirth.

The hand that clasped hers so gently was cold even through the soft leather gloves. Her warmth drew him like a moth to a candle; unlike that moth, he'd not be the one to get burned. He never once forced Christine into anything, allowing her the illusion that it was all her choice. Instead, he'd simply smile, careful to keep his fangs hidden, and caress her hand tenderly. Feeling her body grow warm at the look in his eyes, she followed without question or argument. This close to each other, this close to sealing the bond, desire and need and urgency all came together into an intense longing so powerful that nothing short of true death would end it. Only when the door closed behind them and she realized he'd taken her into a bedroom did she hesitate.

Strong arms as cold as his hand encircled her waist and pulled her back to mold her to his hard body. Julien smiled at her gasp of surprise when she felt the evidence of his desire pressing firmly against her. Nuzzling the hair from her shoulder, he inhaled her crisp, clean, innocent fragrance and almost lost control of the beast that raged within. With amazing willpower, he resisted sinking his fangs into the pulsing vein in her neck and ran his tongue up it instead. Christine allowed her head to fall back onto his shoulder as jolts of desire too strong to understand raced throughout her body. When he began to explore her curves, she moaned softly in surrender. He slowly unclasped her gown, allowing his lips to caress every bare inch that was revealed to his hungry eyes. Before it could hit the floor, she was helping him undress her. He couldn't resist a taste of her precious blood when it was her own hands that tore away at her corset and underpinnings.

Christine cried out softly as his teeth shallowly pierced her skin. Her startled cry quickly turned to moans of desire when he brought his hands to her breasts as he lapped up the blood trickling from the slight wound. Julien's own passion-filled growl joined her moans at the taste of such a pure innocent creature. Scooping her into his arms in a single smooth motion, he cradled his victim close to his chest and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. He carried her to the large canopied bed and laid her on the blood-red silk sheets without ceasing his plunder of her exquisite lips. As he undressed, he forced his inner beast down and counseled patience. It'd been at least thirty years since he'd had a mate by his side and this passionate angel would more than satisfy him until he passed through the Final Transition. Christine's eyes widened at the sight of his erect manhood but subtle, mental assurances calmed her fears enough for her to explore his body.

The warmth of her small hands burned his skin wherever they touched. He tilted his head back in pleasure as her fingers caressed the planes of his chest and teased the light sprinkling of curls that formed a trail southward. Julien moaned when she followed that trail to encircle his throbbing shaft and run wondering fingers along its hard length. The feel of her tongue timidly lapping at his hard nub for a nipple was the final act that urged the beast free from his control. Growling fiercely, he grabbed her upper arms and threw her fully onto the bed. Before she'd even realized what he'd done, his body was pressed against hers and he was kissing her deeply. His hands were everywhere, touching, teasing, preparing her for their bodies' pleasure. The beast demanded satisfaction and he was hard pressed not to give in when the scent of her innocent arousal assaulted his senses. When she arched against him, begging him to take her, he resisted claiming her fully. He wanted her to know…

"Little One, I will have you; there is no stopping that now. What I want to know is if you want to be with me forever? You can feel it, I know; that pull to be by my side. It is what drew you to France, to Paris, to me." His beautiful voice was hoarse with the strain of having her so close and yet not claiming her luscious body. Her eyes fluttered open and stared up at him in confusion. "At first it will hurt, that I cannot help, but know this: I will cherish you until the end of my days." Julien raised up enough to gaze down into her face, his eyes a frightening shade of red as the hunger tore at him and demanded to feed on the willing creature beneath him. He opened his mouth slightly and bared his fangs to her shocked eyes. Scared of what it all meant but aching to fill that deep chasm in her soul, the strength of her passion clouded her reasoning. Whimpering with need, she arched against him and begged him to make her his forever. With a feral grin, the vampire leaned down to trail a line of kisses along her jugular. His aching manhood and sharp fangs simultaneously impaled the young singer and Christine screamed at the brutal invasion. And yet, when he flexed his hips to pull away, her hands clung desperately to his back and pulled him deep inside her once more. Falling into the age-old rhythm of passion, Julien slaked his lusts on her young, innocent body and tainted her soul with his vampiric kiss.

After that first passionate and painful coupling, he ensured that their next joining was long and slow. Her mewling cries as he brought her to the pinnacle of ecstasy again and again inflamed his passions and, before he plunged into her writhing body once more, he pressed a fingernail to his chest to let the blood flow. She was hesitant to drink, not truly believing the nature of the creature she'd welcomed into her bed. Vampires didn't exist and, even if they did, they were hideously evil beasts who killed for pleasure and drained their victims. At least, that's what she'd grown up believing. Now she was forced to believe that this beautiful man whose soul had called to hers over hundreds of miles was one of those very same creatures. Her human morality and religious convictions were colliding with the truth of what he was and what she would become and so she resisted that first taste. Julien tangled his fingers in her glorious curls and guided her head gently but firmly to his chest, urging her to taste his blood and complete the bond. At Christine's first tentative lick, he growled his pleasure and savagely invaded her soft, nubile body. When she locked her lips onto the wound and began to feed, he felt the merging of their souls into damnation.

As they lay in the afterglow, Julien informed her that there was a final step they needed to take in order for her to transition immediately instead of letting her live out her normal human life. He told her that it would be her decision alone and this would be the only time he would ask; he would be by her side regardless of her choice. Christine, sated and drowsy, curled up next to her vampire lover and assured him that she wished for nothing more than to remain in his arms for many lifetimes to come and saw no reason to delay completion. Secretly pleased, he explained what would happen over the course of the next few hours. The Transition wasn't easy nor was it without its own pain and risks. The risks were multiplied since he'd be turning her during the early hours of the morning and he warned her to remain by his side at all times. Not all of the superstitions concerning his kind were false. Nodding in understanding, Christine was determined to see this through to the end. For the first time in her life she felt loved and she wasn't going to risk losing him to her own cowardice. Kissing her lips tenderly, he promised it would soon be over. Her arms enveloped him in a loving embrace as his fangs pierced her skin and he drained her last hold on humanity.

Dawn was just breaking over the horizon when Christine breathed the last breath of her old life. Julien held her close and watched over her through these next crucial hours. Bringing over a mate was never a certainty; not all survived the physical changes and even fewer recovered from the mental ones. As she began the change, he held her close and sang gentle lullabies to ease her pain. The death of one's mortality, accompanied by the body's purging of unneeded wastes, was always the hardest and most painful. Christine's seemed doubly so and he wondered if she was raised to be highly religious. Often, such convictions caused intense inner turmoil that made a human more resistant. Three hours passed before her convulsions and cries of agony ceased and she lay unmoving on the bed. With no heartbeat to check, no breath to go by, it wasn't possible to tell the difference between true death and undeath. Julien pried open one of her eyes and was relieved to see the faint red ringed in gold that marked one as being a creature of the night. As he brought the blankets up to cover them both, he awaited the final test of the first stage of her Transition: would she awaken when the moon claimed its place amongst the stars?

Le Théâtre de Mystère - Theater of Mysteries

Die Zauberflöte - English translation: The Magic Flute, opera composed in 1791 by Mozart

ps...reposting to correct my horrible math mistake