I'm so glad I actually found motivation to write a PotO FF because I love this musical so much and my last attempt failed since I lost motivation to write it. :(

I recently watched the 25th anniversary showing of it and wanted to write a tribute because Ramin is a wonderful actor and actually is the only Phantom besides Michael Crawford that I love. :D Hazah.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, music, book, or anything that had to do with the idea.

Untuned

Shock initially froze his body when Christine's lips urgently and swiftly graced his. She gently caressed his face—his horrible, disgusting, diseased face—with her soft hands, hands soft like the petals on the crimson roses he sent her. He didn't dare close his eyes; he couldn't if he wanted to. She entranced him by the only true motion of kindness given freely to him. She was the only person who didn't see the demon in a hell, the demon that received glares from the cold, dark world of the outside and contempt scowls from the hideous beast in the mirror. She saw a damned, misunderstood man who yearned for acceptance and tenderness. She saw the angel he longed to be. A tear pooled in his eye and fell like quicksilver. His face remained rigid, the Phantom unsure of what to do. He lifted his trembling hands and allowed his fingers to slowly run through Christine's hair, hair sleek and silky like the black satin ribbon he tied around the rose.

Christine broke contact with their lips, smiling at the demon in hell before wrapping her arms around him in an embrace. Tears flooded his eyes, rushing down his contorted face as he struggled with this kindness, the kindness he longed for. His hands shook violently and he attempted to return the embrace, his arms weakly and vainly endeavoring to find their way around her. Her body pressed against his was warm, warm like the wax he used to seal letters of approval and esteem to his protégée.

Her lips greeted his once more, fervor and passion trying to break the stiffness and coldness of a man who had never been touched like this, who was never shown kindness like this, who had never been… loved… like… this. His tears rushed like a waterfall, the sobs of uncertainty, fright, and thankfulness bottled inside as her lips moved like a ballerina and his lips moved like a statue. He yearned for her touch, for that bit of kindness, writing music to keep his mind off the ideal of kindness. And now his wished fulfilled, he deep secret received, he was stunned, shell-shocked. His mind was an untuned organ trying to make music from scraps of sheet music.

Suddenly her lips stopped, she pulling slowly back. Her lips turned up to a hopeful smile, small but sure, and her blue eyes flickered like a flame, full of emotion. His brow was pained from being scrunched up for so long. His silent cry flooded to his eyes, filling them to the brim again and pooling over. He took his eyes off her and slowly ambled past her, his hands shaking rapidly and he tried to collect his thoughts, thoughts like notes that had no tune, no structure, just a jumble of music. His gait was slow; he leisurely, but purposefully released Christine's beloved from the noose. They left quickly, two lovers intending to forget the monster that threatened to destroy their happiness.

He sat by his organ. The music box eerily chimed away. He sang along quietly with the tune, his voice hoarse and broken—an untuned organ. His music failed. The beautiful notes were sharp. His mask failed. His songs unraveled as he did. Alone. Betrayed. Confused. Disappointed. Bewildered. Stirred. Crumbling. He heard footsteps and looked up, an angel in a beautiful white wedding gown gazing sadly at the devil pathetically sitting on the ground. He stood, his eyes not yet dry, his mouth cracked, his face distorted, his heart shattered, his music unsung.

"Christine, I love you." His smile was sad and hurt. A tear ran down her porcelain cheek. She lightly grasped his hand, placing the ring in his palm. She became untuned, tears falling like diamonds from her sparkling blue eyes. He looked brokenly at her when she kissed his hand and turned. He gazed longingly at her, his eyes never ceasing the waterfall. He kept his sobs silent. He pocketed the ring. He was no longer her angel. He was a demon, a demon in hell with beautiful music that had become untuned and would remain unheard and silent.

I hope you liked it! Sorry for any mistakes!

Review?

Over and out,

Mahersal