Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera- songs or characters belong to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Weber. Other songs belong to Haley Westenra
A/N This fic was inspired by a Phantom dream I had and the small town I now live in. Please read and review.
Fog wreathed the street lamps with glowing halos as I stepped down off the old Greyhound with one suitcase in hand. The bus rumbled away coughing exhaust in my direction leaving me alone on the dark street in a puddle of light. I had big dreams, or I once did. I was going to get to New York to have a career in theater. But now here I was, the end of the line in Rose Haven, a town so small it wasn't on the map crunched up in my jacket pocket. I looked up and down the fog-shrouded street. Seemed like a quaint town. There was a church of grey stone its bell tower rising toward the moon. Small shops with pinstriped awnings lined the street along with rows of saplings strung with tiny white lights. A fountain in the town square sat in front of a large brick building. A hotel? I wondered. I clutched my suitcase and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I didn't have much money left but perhaps I could get a room.
I walked down the deserted street, not a soul in sight. In fact I hadn't seen anyone since stepping off that bus. My footsteps echoed on the cobblestone walk. A three-tiered fountain sat in the alcove heading up a path that wound back to the big building. Water trickled out with a delicate sound catching the light of the street lamps. A playful breeze teased the strands of hair that had come loose from my ponytail carrying the soft, alluring scent of roses from further down the path. The brick structure was drenched in shadow but upon approaching I discovered that it wasn't a hotel but a theatre, a playhouse. It was unlike any I had seen before with gothic arched windows and a tower that soared to the night sky. The masks of tragedy and comedy stared down at me from above large double leaved doors bound in iron with filigree on the hinges. The eyeless faces seemed to loom out of the dark and leer at me. The windows had colored glass in them with designs of climbing roses. This place looked more like a mansion or a cathedral than a theatre. I sat on the edge of the fountain where the water hadn't left its mark, the blue and with tile gleamed in moonlight and the coolness seeped through my jeans. I sighed as the water splashed and played behind me. Okay so it was the middle of the night and I was sitting in the square of a ghost town with no where to go and no money to get anywhere with. So for the moment I basked in the summer night floating with the scent of roses.
Then I heard it, soft strains of music as if from far away. I stood up. I thought at first that I was imagining it. I stepped away from the gurgle of the fountain and walked slowly toward the theatre. Light flickered in the stained glass. I heard the mournful sound of a lone violin then in answer the chords of an organ. Someone was here! What luck. I grabbed my suitcase and walked down the path. The crowd of roses nodded their full blown heads as if acknowledging my passage sending the delicate scent swirling around me. As I approached the huge doors I heard the music. It was no tune I recognized but was haunting and beautiful and part of me was saddened by it. The violin notes faded away and the chords of the organ played on for a second longer before it too was silenced. I lifted my hand to rap on the door when, with a clank and a groan, it was opened abruptly. I stood there, fist upraised, as I took in the figure on the stoop before me.