a/n- This is completely Leroux based. I heard someone mention that there is a noticeable lack of Leroux Erik stories...I love Erik either way, nose or no nose! I do not own anything Phantom, but I wish I did...I would amuse Erik in many ways if I did. lol.

Stranger Than You Dreamt It

Year 1870. Prologue Part 1- Christine, Where are you?

After 3 weeks, I could not survive without Christine. Nadir faithfully put "Erik is dead." in the Daily Gazette. Oh my Christine, my Angel, I needed her. She had promised! She had promised me to return when I was dead.

I felt terrible, deceiving her so, but I could not! I could not eat, could not sleep; I could barely compose music. Music! The only thing that made sanity cling to my mind was ceasing to do so...I was losing myself, losing myself in grief. Nadir was forcing me to eat at least once every other day or so... I suppose I was truly becoming the "Living Corpse," the "Opera Ghost" that everyone had labeled me. Tears leaked from my eyes. Christine! You must come! I moaned. You MUST! Oh Christine. For the tenth time I rushed weakly up a tunnel, checking to see if Christine was even now walking thru the Paris Opera House door. I took a huge risk, and actually went to the door, preparing to open it. Insane, really, to think she'd be here at this exact moment. I touched the giant golden handle and felt a shock run thru my entire body. Every fiber of my being quivered, and I had a strange sense of...acceleration. Like I was racing, racing forward into some unknown place...

Year 2005. Prologue Part 2 - The Appearance

"Roselle! Oh my god, look! We finally can see it!" Abbey squealed. Roselle giggled in excitement, her heart and body fizzy and hyper. "Oh my lord! A Phan's DREAM! We are standing at the ruins of Paris Opera House!"

Abbey and Roselle squeaked and screamed and hugged as innocent bystanders avoided them like a plague. It was here that Christine Daae left poor Erik! Here where the greatest masterpieces were buried! Here where the mask of the red death paraded thru the Opera House!

But of course, the Phantom of the Opera was a legend. But a wonderful story all the same.

"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came, that voice which calls to me, and speaks my name...and do I dream again, for now I find, the PHANTOM OF THE OPERA IS THERE INSIDE MY MIND!" Roselle sang.

Abbey sighed dramatically. "You have such a wonderful voice, Roselle. You could have replaced Christine."

Roselle blushed, because she was being honest. "I certainly would have made a better choice ," she clarified. She would have certainly chosen poor Erik over Raoul DeClodhead.

"Let's touch it! Just the handle," Roselle moaned, and stepped up to the unguarded, unloved pile of rubble. After so long abandoned, buildings had been constructed around it, forming a deep, dark alley up to the monstrous building. Weeds littered the path. No one knew why the city didn't just tear it down, but some people clung to small hopes that it could be fixed up and live to its name again. Abbey followed behind her, giggling nervously.

"Oooh it looks so creepy," She whispered giddily.

"I like the dark," Roselle protested mildly. "It's a good place to hide."

Abbey flashed her a sympathetic glance, which Roselle loathed, but she said nothing. Reaching up, she hesitated before touching the grand but rather weary-looking golden handle of the crumbling door. Roselle stopped and examined the handle curiously; The gold was twisted in such strange ways...She felt a odd tingling in my fingers, as if she was close to another person. "Touch it, touch it, touch it!" Abbey chanted.

Roselle did.

She had the freakiest sensation of touching another person's- cold- fingers.

Abbey screamed.