Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, which is owned by Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay respectively. I credit them all for inspiring this work and am not making any sort of profit out of what I write.

A/N: The word limit on the summary hardly gives me room to adequately explain my story, so I'm including a lengthier, more detailed summary in this prologue, hoping that it will encourage readers to continue with this story.

Firstly, this phic is a futuristic, science fiction story. It takes place in a world where an Empire extends over the civilized world and is ruled by Philippe de Chagny. This Philippe de Chagny, and all other "recognizable" characters, is not the exact same character introduced in Leroux's original tale. Rather, I choose to believe my characters are reincarnations of Leroux's characters in order to fulfill a prophecy/promise made by Erik that never came true: that he would make Meg Giry Empress in the year 1885.

This incarnation of Erik shares similarities to his predecessor. He is still deformed grotesquely; he is still a genius; he still will kill without a thought; and he still had an affair of sorts with Christine Daae, while her teacher. In this case, however, you will find that he was helping to train her to rule the Underground society of rebels against the Emperor. She still leaves him for Raoul, whom she loves and can better manipulate. My Christine is not as naïve as Leroux's, Webber's, or Kay's. She is a politically shrewd woman, with an iron will. Raoul, mean while, is love-struck and handsome. There is some depth to his character, although he is no where near as politically interested as his wife and is, frankly, a bit henpecked. Nadir (the Persian), is still Erik's best friend and keeper. I let him keep the title of "Daroga" because I can just see it as one of those quirky, high class words the Court uses to denote, as well as degrade, Nadir's position in society. Lastly, I come to Meg. Meg is still a dancer (though not a ballerina) and you will see her character change most, from an innocent, bitter little girl to a regal, mature woman. This change will take place over the course of many years, so this story will, obviously, be very long.

I beg you to stay with me in this experimental writing process, dear reader. It's a challenge to write and create, and I only hope that it will spark some attention and satisfy those with curious minds. Without further ado, I present the prologue of Empress.

The triumphant gleam in Christine Daae's blue eyes was evident throughout the church. She looked so beautiful, so perfect, as she should today. Her blonde ringlets flowed downward, meeting white, gossamer fabric at the exposed small of her back. Erik felt a burst of lustful desire surge through him, causing his expressive hands to tremble. Thoughts of crashing the wedding crossed Erik's malevolent mind as he sat much like a cat on its haunches, cloaked in shadow high above the ceremony. Suddenly, he felt a hand upon his wiry shoulder. He didn't need to turn his head to know who was beside him.

"Let her, Erik." The voice from behind him was tranquil, laced with fatigue, but commanding respect; a mid-range tenor, resonant, but unmusical and easy on the ears.

Erik scowled. "Let her, Nadir?" he hissed. "Let her betray the Revolution?"

Nadir shook his head and crouched beside his friend. "Let her go, Erik. She would never betray the Revolution."

"She already has," Erik wrenched his shoulder from Nadir's grasp and watched as the cleric made an elaborate sign over Christine and her groom, Grand Prince Raoul de Chagny. He heard Nadir exhale and knew that his friend was rubbing his forehead in a characteristic motion.

"I misspoke, Erik. She will not tell anyone of her past involvement with the Revolution or with you."

"She is ashamed of me, then?" Erik whispered; his voice borderline hysteric.

Nadir shook his head. "No. She is ashamed of her involvement with something potentially illegal."

Erik clicked his tongue. Potentially illegal. Even now, in Erik's darkest hour, Nadir's tongue in cheek humor was enough to bring a grim grin to his withered lips. He shook his head despondently and forced himself to watch the proceedings below.

"Why aren't you watching the ceremony, Daroga?"

"But I am," Nadir said, patting his friend on the back, "Who I choose to watch it with is of little consequence."

"You'd rather sit in the rafters with me than in the comfortable audience with your peers?"

Erik leered at Nadir, bleak amusement lighting up his ocher eyes. Today, he wore a mask. Not a false face, like he so often wore to mingle with everyday society; nor did he expose himself in his hideous glory; but donned a black velvet mask, trimmed with gold thread, likely an alloy of the precious metal. Nadir knew his friend well enough to know that Erik had eccentric, expensive, and occasionally flamboyant tastes.

"If I did, who would keep you from objecting to the happy couple's union?"

"Touché," Erik murmured, swiveling around to watch the ending of the ceremony.

If it were any other couple, the wedding celebration would have been beautiful, even at this distance. No expense was spared; golden torches adorned with sliver plating lined the walls, bouquets of real flowers marked each pew and real petals were strewn about the red carpeting as though they were inexpensive and commonplace. Everything about this wedding was glorious… But Erik had spent the better part of five years training Christine Daae to be the Revolutionary Empress, promised to the world so long ago. The two were not only teacher and student, but had an illicit and lengthy affair. But Erik had not been enough for her; the Underground Kingdom he offered her, not enough. She wanted more, the light and luxury of the Emperor's Court. She social climbed her way into the Court—and into the Grand Prince's heart. Raoul de Chagny was to be the next Emperor and the open-faced youth had fallen for Christine, hard. Their love affair was like a slap to the face for Erik and Christine Daae betrayed him for someone better off in society than he. He couldn't blame her, exactly. Social pariahs such as Erik lived on the fringe of respectable society and all he could offer her was his soul. This boy could make her a real Empress; a legal, beautiful wife and bride of society. It was something Erik would hardly have succeeded in doing. The Empress he promised to make her would not have been loved by the people. Rather, she would be reviled by typical society and persecuted by the Court. For her personal interest, marrying Raoul de Chagny would be far more satisfying. And the youth was handsome. Better looking than unfortunate Erik could ever hope to be. There was a reason his mother cast him onto the streets to die twenty four years ago; a reason the Fighters took pity upon him. Erik was born a physical demon, horrifying to behold. That was why he wore the masks; to compensate for his ugliness. Thinking of his repulsiveness only embittered Erik and he coughed, hoping to brush his thoughts of inadequacy aside. Succeeding only marginally, he decided to change the subject to how to rectify his current shortcoming.

"What should we do now, Daroga?" Erik asked, looking to his friend, unable to watch Raoul and Christine kiss. "Who now?"

Nadir shrugged and situated himself as to be more comfortable upon the steel rafter. "We'll have to find someone new."

Erik pursed his lips. "You mean you'll have to find someone new. I don't trust my judgment anymore."

"If you can't trust yourself in this world, who can you trust?" Nadir asked, quirking an eyebrow, watching the couple below usher out of the church, their attendants close behind.

Erik shrugged, his eyes following the movement of the new husband and Nadir, briefly, worried his friend would swoop upon him in a rage.

"I trust you."

Surprised by this obvious display of confidence, Nadir blinked, his grass colored eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because you don't trust me," Erik said simply. From his breast pocket, Erik pulled an elaborate gold timepiece, likely an antique, for it was very unlike the digital watch upon Nadir's thin, dark wrist. Erik checked the time, studying the odd symbols upon the clock face before pocketing the watch and looking at Nadir again. "You better go, Daroga. Someone will be bound to look for you at the reception."

Before Nadir could say anything to that, Erik was gone, a flutter of his cloak signifying his departure. Slowly, the police chief stood and balanced to walk across the thin rafter and to the side he knew a Fighter's secret passageway to be on. He disappeared into the passage, leaving in favor of the feasting and dancing that lay in store. The church was now empty, except the priest, who had remained oblivious to the friends' presence high above the rest of the crowd. It was flabbergasting how oblivious society was to the presence of Fighters.