(A/N, Just a little idea I had for a story. May be a bit crap, as have never written a Phantom Of The Opera story before. Please R&R and let me know what you think!)
He watched as she left his sight forever. Christine Daae and her pathetic excuse for a lover Raoul de Chagny, in the tiny boat that he himself had used more than once. Tears streaming down his face, he turned away from them, not wanting to see the woman he loved in the arms of another man.
What did you expect her to do, you fool?
Angrily, he glared at his own reflection in the mirror. You're nothing more than a monster. And Monsters do NOT have wives, or lovers, or friends…you know this already. And STILL, you must persist telling yourself that you are normal. You are not. You never will be!
Consumed with the rage he felt at the injustice of it all, he clenched his fist and smashed the glass before him, barely noticing the small shards of glass slice his fingers to ribbons. He turned wildly, and snatched up the nearest object he could find, (a golden ornate candlestick in this instance) and began smashing the surrounding mirrors, hiding his own reflection, trying to banish it from his memory.
He reached the final mirror, and gazed at his reflection one last time. If not for the white mask that his half of his face, he would have been attractive. Furious, he wrenched his white mask from his face and glared at the disfigured skin beneath it. With a cry, he smashed the final mirror and gazed into the darkness that lead to the dungeons below.
With a heavy sadness in his heart, he turned, and caught a fleeting glimpse of his Christine before she was lost to him forever. He thought he saw her look back, but the dark abyss of the night shrouded her from his view and she did not break free. She was gone, forever.
Swirling back around, he heard a stampede of people coming ever closer. He looked in their general direction, and was surprised to see an angelic looking girl standing on the far side of the cave, looking at him in amazement.
"You are real…" She whispered, putting a pale slender hand to her throat.
The Phantom quickly snatched his mask, and re-placed it over the offending disfigurement. He recognized the girl as Meg Giry, Madam Giry's only child. He knew all of the dancers by sight, and Meg, he knew to be one of the most exceptional. She had briefly caught his eye before Christine came along.
"LEAVE!" He shouted across the cavern to her. She jumped at the ferocity in his tone, but seemed unable to leave. She looked at him in wonder, as though some invisible force was holding her in place.
He gave a snort of contempt, and listened at the crowd of people grew ever closer. He made to leave down the dark passageway, but he stopped himself. Meg Giry wont leave, she could expose you…
The thought stuck in his mind. What if the little Giry did expose him? No, she could never betray her precious mother like that, could she? He couldn't afford to take that chance. In a flash, he turned around and waded across the filthy river until he stood infront of her.
Her blue eyes flashed with fear, and mentally he cursed her for weakening him. He hated it when people looked at him in fear. Was it his fault he was cursed?
A crash sounded above them, and little Meg fell forward into the Opera Ghost's arms. He felt a moment of confusion as the little dancer pressed her face into the security of his shirt. Without thinking, he scooped the ballerina into his strong arms and waded back across the filthy water and twisted his body as he ran into the mirror passageway, so not to hurt her.
The Phantom stopped some way down and looked back. Meg Giry peered over his shoulders and gave a small cry. The fire that had savaged the Opera Populaire had slowly made its way down through the floors, and was now spreading quickly through the passage, catching everything alight as it chased the two, fleeing in its wake.
The phantom set Meg down on to her feet. "You wish to live?" He barked at the terrified girl sharply. Meg nodded, shaking her angelic blonde locks out of her face. The Phantom snatched at her hand, seeing the younger girl wince in pain.
"Then run for your life, and do not let go of my hand. Understand me?" He spoke more harshly than he would have normally. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He was still stinging from the loss of Christine Daae, and he rather loathed the face that he would have to leave the place he had called home for so many years.
Pulling he frail dancer along, he sped through the passageway, dragging the girl behind him. Flames licked at their heels, and he pulled the woman out of harms way on more than one occasion.
His mind worked frantically, thinking on how best to fix this damned situation. The loss of Christine burned like a white-hot knife in his heart, and he dragged Meg up after she had fallen to her knees. Thick black smoke surrounded their every move, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.
Perhaps this was one Finale that the Opera Ghost would forfeit.