Hello, so this is the first time I've actually written Phantom fanfiction and I rarely write any stories anymore, so please forgive me if this isn't all that great. The descriptions in this are based on the 25th Anniversary Concert. I still hope you like this.
That first hand he extended in a promise; a promise to finally let me see my Angel. It promised wonder and amazement, music and passion. I took it willingly, prepared to be completely lost in whatever his world had in store for me.
His hand extended towards me again, just fleetingly, in a plea for forgiveness, absolution, understanding. It had all been a pretense, as there was no Angel of Music and the man behind the mask was just Erik, broken and deformed. That hand begged for me to see behind the monstrosity, to see the man he wanted to be in my presence. That hand made me think that there may be more than just the illusion of an angel or the horridness of his face. I gave him back his mask.
His hand was calling me, just as his voice, from the grave of my father. It beckoned with the safety I craved and missed, and all I wanted to was take it and let him lead me away to a place where I would not have to grieve any longer. I knew it would end with insanity, very likely my own, but found I could not care much. I could hear Raoul's pleading, but all I saw was his hand, warm and inviting. In the end, though, Raoul's voice was just louder.
I knew it were his hands that travelled over my body in the most inappropiate way, revering in their touch despite the lust that was definitely in him. This had been his plan all along; to get his hands on me one final time and then take me away. Despite myself, I found I was responding to his touch, but still I recoiled as if I had been burned. His hands still hung limply in the air, like he was caressing my shadow. I wondered how a hand as cold as death could spark such a fire.
His hand took mine and begged me to promise him eternity by his side. He slid the ring on my finger with his shaky hand and looked at me with unbridled passion and desperation. That hand, gripping mine tightly, demanded too much of me. How could I ever give him what he asked? Overwhelmed and discovering my own cruelty, I knew the only thing to do was to shed the man and bring the monster to light.
His hand clasped around my throat, unawaringly choking the life out of me. All of his frustration, pain and anger flowed through his fingers and made him grip tighter. My neck felt so incredibly small and fragile under his hand, his broad hand so much stronger than me. I could only wait for a choice; the man could release me while the monster could murder me with just a squeeze. I marveled at the strength of humanity in him.
His hand extended towards me one last time in a promise; a promise to love me forever, even if I left him. It grasped mine softly, trying to make me understand that there were no questions, demands or promises asked of me anymore. His thumb gently stroked the back of my hand, memorizing every inch of it before my last departure. When I finally let go, I could still feel his hand upon mine, and I quickly looked to see if, by some chance, he had burned me with it; my hand was unblemished, yet deep inside I knew he had marked me forever. I would forever feel his hand on my hand as well as feel it gripped around my heart, never to let go.