Yet another movie obsession has inspired me (after I watched it last weekend!), and I just HAD to write a story about it. Take THAT AP English and AP US History homework! ! !

This is at the end of Don Juan Triumphant. It just makes me so MAD that she ripped his mask off! And the audience wouldn't have been able to see his face from that far away anyway…grrr…

I don't own Phantom of the Opera...which is why I'm on FanFiction writing about it.

Enjoy!

As the music died from the finish of the Finale, the Phantom's embrace tightened around me, as if he was afraid of letting me go. I froze as he began singing in a soft, hypnotic tenor, but couldn't help relaxing into him at the sound of his angelic voice.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime,
Lead me safely from my solitude.
Say you want me with you here, beside you..."

I turned to face him when he moved away from me. Grabbing my hands, he suddenly swept forward to close the gap, and continued singing passionately.

"Anywhere you go, let me go too.
Christine, that's all I ask of...you!"

The Phantom's rich tone resonated around the room and through my body. I was pressed against him now, his chest heaving from the effort of the last verse, and mine breathless in awe.

"Yes," I whispered once I was able to draw a breath.

His eyes shone beneath the mask, and his perfect lips swerved into a smile of utter delight. He pulled me closer—if possible—and I was swept up into a kiss. Warmth coursed through my body, dispersing then lingering wherever we touched.

The audience erupted into applause, obviously believing this was a part of the act. The subtle buzz of their ovation was barely perceptible through our embrace until he pulled away. His face turned from mine as he beamed at the spectators, radiating satisfaction at his feat, but our bodies never shifted.

As the noise began to subside, I could hear frantic shouting over the applause. The Phantom's grip tightened around me, but he leaned away to search for the commotion. Our eyes seemed to find it at the same time; Raoul had left his box and was yelling to the soldiers stationed around the auditorium, pointing furiously towards the stage.

"Raoul, no!" I cried, stumbling away from the Phantom and towards my fiancé.

I leaned over the railing of the scaffolding, screaming to Raoul, begging him to listen to me. One of the soldiers cocked his gun and aimed it where we stood. Several other soldiers followed suit, and there was an uproar when the audience realized that the weapons were ready to fire. Shrill screams lit the air, and the spectators scattered away from the guns like frenzied ants. Fear paralyzed me when I realized that the rifles were intended not for us, but just for him.

A shot rang out, then a second; each echoed by a chorus of silence, before the hall broke out into terrified cries and shrieks. I leapt in front of my Phantom, preventing any harm from coming to him. A hand grasped me roughly, and he wrapped his arm around my waist. I held him tightly, feeling the sense of urgency in his movements as he struck the boards we stood upon with his foot.

Suddenly the world was rushing upward, throwing my skirts into a billowing flurry, until everything was swallowed up into terrifying blackness. I stifled a shriek, closed my eyes, and hugged the Phantom closer. He returned the gesture and quickly adjusted our descent so that when we landed, he broke my fall. We had fallen onto a thick foam padding, but even that didn't stop the wind from being knocked from us both.

I heard the trapdoor we had fallen through slam shut above us, and everything went eerily silent. The darkness became less intimidating as my eyes became accustomed to the dim firelight of the torches lining the walls. As soon as I was able to move, I scrambled off him.

"Christine," he breathed, barely able to speak. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I gasped as soon as I was able. My ridiculous corset wasn't making it easy to take in air, and I collapsed onto the cushion beside him, trying to blink away the glittering darkness spotting my vision.

"What's wrong?" he insisted.

"I can't…It's my—" I tried to speak, but couldn't seem to catch my breath.

He seemed to understand, and gently but urgently reached beneath my chemise and began untying my excessively-tightened corset. Once it was undone I breathed deeply, letting the oxygen purge my sight of any imperfections. He removed my corset completely, but didn't remove his hands from my waist. I turned my head to look at him as warmth flooded my skin at his touch, lingering in my cheeks as well as my waist where his hands rested. A tender smile graced his lips as my eyes met his glassy ones, and I couldn't help but return it.

He sat up, cringing in what must have been pain as he got to his feet. Holding my corset against himself with one hand, he offered me the other, which I graciously accepted. I tried not to put too much weight into it, but he grimaced a little as I stood.

"Thank you," I said gratefully.

"You're very welcome," he replied in his deep, velvety voice.

He stepped closer to me, his eyes flickering once from me to the floor and back again. He seemed about to say something, when suddenly the sound of harsh voices bounced through the stone corridors. Bringing the hand that held mine to his face, he pressed his finger to his lips, before delicately kissing my hand and leading me down a lighted hallway. I traipsed along behind him, barely able to keep up with his wide gate without running. The labyrinth of tunnels was already lost on me, and I blindly followed my guide toward our destination; his home.

As he led me into the boat at the water's edge, I almost expected him to start singing, urging me to join in, and when he didn't I felt a pang of sadness. He was still holding my corset, clutching it close to his chest as though it was the only thing keeping him alive. Because his other hand was occupied, he had only one arm to propel the boat with, and we were taking a jagged, uneven path down the channel.

"Here," I offered, gesturing toward the corset. "I'll take it."

He just shook his head, continuing the slow and unsteady strokes toward his dwelling. Sweat was beginning to collect on his brow, and his limbs were shaking with the effort. I narrowed my eyes. This had been so easy for him the first time I'd come down here—if my silly little swatch of clothing was straining him this much, why wouldn't he allow me to help? Or at least set it down?

"Please, let me," I urged, reaching forward to take it.

"No!" he snapped, his voice rasping.

I recoiled as though I'd been slapped, which is what it had felt like—a verbal blow.

"I'm sorry—I just—"

"No, Christine," he interrupted my apology gently. "I am sorry."

We rounded a corner in silence, the sight of where he lived taking my breath away yet again. The word Lair came to mind, but I dismissed it—a lair was where a monster or beast would live. This was no lair, but it didn't seem like the home of a human, either. There were candles everywhere, illuminating the rich red fabrics of the many curtains draped over walls and doorways and mirrors—casting flickering shadows across the cracks and crevasses of the cavernous walls. The rippling water reflected the dancing candlelight, sending sparks of light twinkling across the walls.

He docked the modest vessel, pausing to take several long, shaky breaths, and then stepped onto the stone floor. Using the staff he had drawn the boat with, he pulled himself onto the cavern floor before reaching back and offering his hand to me. I carefully took it, and he clasped his clammy fingers around my comparably tiny hand to pull me up to him. He teetered forward slightly, then gathered his strength and heaved me onto land.

Under his arm he still held my corset. As I gazed at the white bodice clutched beneath his similarly white knuckles, my thoughts were permeated with a feeling of dread. He didn't move, and when I met his glassy eyes, his pallid face was in stark contrast to the dark mask he wore.

A hand flew forward, grasping my arm in a steely grip, and the Phantom collapsed, his knees giving out below him.

"Oh!" I gasped as his weight dragged me down. I couldn't support him, but I was just able to stop his head from cracking to the ground. His eyes rolled back and his body went limp in my arms.

As I held his head in my lap, frantically trying to wake him up, I felt something sticky seep onto my dress—blood. Realizing that it was coming from his chest, I slowly peeled back the corset with an unsteady hand. I gaped at the large, red blot staining his shirt in dismay, and shakily pulled back the fabric, praying that I was wrong, that he hadn't been—

"No," I whispered numbly, staring at the terrible bullet wound marring his left shoulder.

My Angel had been shot.

Okay, so this was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but my mind kind of took a different approach than I'd planned...

Review—Criticism welcome!—and let me know what you think! Should I continue? Or leave it at this wonderous cliffhanger?

Your Pal,

SuperOreoMan