"I'm an Angel, Trust Me"
Summary: Erik really IS an Angel, but what happens when his student is more interested in directing the school musical than singing in it!?
A/N: Hey everyone! I don't own Dogma, G&D, or Phantom in any way, shape or form. I know this chapter is very short, but I'll post more this weekend. If you have a title email it to me ASAP! Please review, I've recently realized there are a million and one ways I could write this, but I'd like knowing where you all want, or think, it's going. Goce!
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Erik assumed he was very, very dead.
God, finally.
He watched Christine take his body to the spot where he had first held her, place her ring on his finger, and idly wondered what to do next. Would he wander the earth for all eternity as some insubstantial specter, never interacting with people ever again, only watching in agony as his beloved Opera House and humanity in general spiraled toward the inevitable? Watching Christine grow old with that boy would be torment, but it certainly was no hell.
"Oh please Erik, did you really think you were going to Hell?"
The Indian-accented voice belonged to a wry-looking, dark-skinned woman behind him.
Wait, behind him? Where was he, anyway?
It seemed that question wouldn't be answered anytime soon, as the place he was no in was devoid of description. Simply swirling silver fog that surrounded him on all sides, a mist so thick he couldn't see through it. Just as suddenly, he was surrounded by people: The woman, a young blonde man that was incessantly clacking chewing gum, and an older, pale, sable-haired man in a trenchcoat who seemed to be very irritated. Maybe he wasn't dead after all, perhaps this was a hallucination produced by opium, if it was, he had to admit that it must—
"Bloody 'ell, you are dead, deal with it!"
The older man, who turned out to be Britain if his inflection was anything to go by, turned to the woman, "Can we get on with this? I've got considerable business at the Vatican!" He began to pace, muttering about "damned professors" and "meddling humans". Our former Phantom merely blinked. The woman, her face softening at his confusion, smiled, indicated first to the boy, the man, and then herself,
"Erik, this is Loki, Loki, Erik. The Voice, Erik, Erik, The Voice. You may call me Serendipity, and you," She pointed to the bewildered artist, "Are an Angel."
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Cupcakes, bunnies, and lasso's to reviewers! Constructive-ness gets a hug from Monsieur L'Fantome!