A/N: Hello and welcome to the world's longest oneshot POTO story! Thank you for clicking on this oneshot and bothering to read it first of all. I really appreaciate that.Or, maybe you mouse slipped and you're reading this page by mistake, or you're just bored and high on caffeine and decided to read this for the heck of it. Whatever the reason may be, thanks for decding to read (AND REVIEW) this oneshot!
I decided to write this oneshot because ( as you well know by now) I LOVE writing POTO oneshots and I've always wanted to write this because it's based on how I thought Erik was going to enter the Masquarade Ball the first time I watched the movie -and I was wrong - so yeah, it's now a fic, with some romantic E/C fluff. Basically just a few missing scenes that occured during the Masquarade Ball that I made up that we didn't get to see.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer : As much as I would like them to, The POTO's chains are NOT mine, and they do NOT belong to me! (If you are as obssessed with POTO as I am, then that should have made perfect sense, and if you're not, it sounds stupid. Oh well.)
Erik fixed his white half-face mask firmly on his face. Smoothing his hair back, he drew in a nervous breath. This was it. This was his moment. If he could pull this off without interference, he might be able to win Christine's heart and trust back.
Of course, looking at him entering the Masquarade Ball, there was nothing exceptional or extraordinary about him that would make him stand out from the hundreds of other masked gentlemen in attendance. He wore only an elegant tuxedo with a rosebud as his corsage, and a white half -face mask that normally, stood out horribly to others and inspired curiosity, but tonight did nothing but allow him to blend in with all the other normal masked faces. He entered quite inconspicuously, through a back door, accepted the normal tokens and treats given to the people in attendance, and watched the numerous masked couples gaily whirl around the room in a parade of silver and black, white and gold, while keeping his eyes peeled for the only woman that mattered to him: Christine.
Three months, three long, agonizing months had passed since that awful night when he had killed Buquet, lost Christine's trust and love for him, and literally felt his heart rip in two as he secretly overheard Christine pledge her love to that empty headed Vicomte and kiss him passionately on the rooftop, watching the arrogant Vicomte steal Christine's words of love and her heart, which rightfully belonged to Erik. Immediately following breaking Erik's heart, they had returned downstairs to let Christine fulfill her role as the star of the production ( a role that Erik had helped her to earn), and then they had fled, vanished, and were never seen or heard from for three long months. During which, Erik had briefly let his heart fill with hate and loathing for Christine for her betrayal, and then agonized and mourned and silently wept for his loss. Afterwards, he had used his time wisely. Quite wisely
He had planned a grand entrance for himself at this ball. He was to enter in a striking red costume, in which he was sure to be noticed. The music would stop, and commotion and panic would follow. He would then briefly address his audience, inform them of his opera and let his demands be known as to how his magnificent Don Juan Triumphant was to be performed. He had it planned out splendidly, and smirked thinking about it.
But, if he played his cards right with Christine tonight, none of that would be necessary. He had no intention now of being recognized, which he wasn't in his average ordinary apparel. He had spoken to no one and everyone else had ignored the ordinary bachelor at the ball, probably forced to be there by family connections or business, and paid him no mind, which was exactly how he had wanted it to be. This was the first time in his life when he wasn't noticed, wasn't singled out or feared because of his mask, and he liked it.
So, after he had firmly adjusted his mask and made sure everything was perfect about him, he stepped out from behind the grand staircase and entered. A few people he didn't know offered him formally polite greetings as they passed, and he nodded in return. He looked all around the majestic ballroom, his eyes frantically searching for her. He didn't spy her anywhere. He knew, of course, that she would have to attend the celebration, both as the leading Prima Donna, which she had recently entered the role of again, and as that de Changy boy's companion or date or whatever society's proper term for it was. But where was she?
Suddenly, as quickly as the question entered his mind, he spied her, across the ballroom. The heartbreak and painful betrayal she had thrust upon him was instantly forgotten as he gazed at her in all her beauty. She was still as fair and petite and innocent to look at as ever. Her velvety chestnut curls were pulled back in a small pomander, and the rest were down, bouncing merrily over her shoulders and back as she danced. Her silky pink gown was absolutely beautiful, swirling and swinging with her every move, revealing glimpses of her shimmering pink slippers and petticoats as she turned, the brilliant glow of the crystal chandeliers reflected dazzlingly off of her ball gown. Her eyes glowed with childlike excitement, hidden skillfully behind her tactfully serene face as she danced. She was obviously bored, waltzing stiffly and formally with an older gentleman, probably some pompous business associate of the Vicomte's or a generous benefactor to the opera house she had been forced to dance with against her will. Well, Erik could put a stop to that.
He waited impatiently, drumming his fingers against the pillar he leaned against as he waited for the music to come to an end. How much longer could eight more measures of music take to play?
Finally, at last, the music stopped. The musicians bowed modestly as everyone clapped, and anxious young bachelors practically ran onto the ball room floor to sweep certain young ladies away. Erik took a deep breath. This was his moment to right all the wrongs he had done to her.
He walked foreword smoothly and elegantly, appearing suddenly behind the older gentlemen
"Excuse me monsieur" he said calmly, in a deep voice "May I cut in?"
The man turned around, revealing himself to be much older than Erik had thought
'But of course, monsieur..."
"Destler. Monsieur Destler" Erik replied coolly
"But of course Monsieur Destler" He turned around to face Christine, and kissed her hand lightly
"It was a pleasure to dance with you mademoiselle"
"The pleasure was all mine" Christine remarked absentmindedly, unaware she had even spoken as she stared boldly at the rather mysterious man. she barely even noticed when the older gentleman walked away, slightly intimidated by the stranger's mysterious presence. Christine continued to stare unbelievingly at her new dance partner.
There was something so familiar about him. Something about the way he spoke, or his presence, or just something. She had seen him somewhere before, met him, been with him, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was that was so familiar about him.
Erik watched her briefly, mentally struggling to recall where she had seen him before. Well, he wasn't the same man she had once known. He'd changed, and he was sure she had changed some too. Besides, she would realize who he was soon enough.
Right when Christine was about to burst from trying to hide her curiosity, the music began again, a slow, sweet, waltz. They both pushed their curiosities aside for the moment to make room for formalities
'May I have this dance?" Erik asked smoothly
" It would be my pleasure" Christine responded sweetly
She placed her white gloved hand in his and the other on his strong shoulder in the proper position. He grasped her quite firmly by her waist, pulling her far closer to him than was proper. She felt his strong arm as it slid around her waist, forcing her against him so abruptly she nearly fell onto him. His mouth curved in a slightly shocked and yet, apologetic way. She was so used to proper, air headed gentlemen like that Vicomte guiding her, she had almost forgotten the bold, sweet manner of his touch. Almost.
But she'd soon remember
He cleared his throat and began to dance, instantly taking the lead. She followed his movements precisely in every way, almost as if they were two lovers moving as one. He whirled her around the dance floor, hearing the stiff swish of her skirt and the soft patter of her dancing slippers.
She leaned closer towards him as they turned in time with he music. For some reason she couldn't explain, she felt naturally at ease with this gentleman, so familiar and comfortable with him. She couldn't admit it to herself, but she felt more at ease gliding around the dance floor with him than with Raoul. Maybe it was his firm, precise movements, or his swift manner, or perhaps it was just his mysterious airs that had grasped her interest. He almost looked like...no, it was just that mask he wore like every gentlemen here. There was no possible way he could be who she thought he was. It was just her imagination.
He awkwardly broke the magical silence between them with some polite conversation
"So, Mademoiselle Daae, who was that.. striking gentleman you had the pleasure of dancing with before I interjected?"
"Hmm? Oh, no one in particular, just a business associate of my...friend's. His name's Monsieur Joseph Ilparle. He is a rather good dancer. Excuse me for being so brash monsieur, but how do you know my name? We haven't yet been introduced"
Erik could have kicked himself for letting his tongue slip. He wasn't planning on revealing himself quite this soon
"Well, mademoiselle, the better question is who doesn't know your name already? You must be the most popular woman in all Paris. A leading Prima Donna with an angelic voice and angelic looks to boot"
He saw her pale cheeks begin to redden "Oh, please stop monsieur, you're making me blush. You really don't mean that"
"I most certainly do"
"Well, have you attended the operas here before monsieur?"
He tried to hold back a laugh "A few, mademoiselle, occasionally. I have heard you sing before, and I'll be the first to say, you rightfully deserve all the praise showered upon you, and even more Miss Daae. You have an incredible voice for your young age"
"Oh monsieur, you don't need to prattle on. You mustn't flatter me so and say things you don't mean"
"Things I don't mean? Those were the sincerest compliments I've ever rewarded any lady. I always make it a point to be sincere, mademoiselle, even towards ladies with half your grace and beauty. You offend me" he said in mock horror
Her lips curved in a gentle smile "I do apologize monsieur. I never meant to offend you"
"No harm done mademoiselle"
They fell back into a quiet lull of silence. Christine needed to know more about this man. He was too... familiar towards her, far too bold and at ease with her, as if he knew her personally. The thought entered her mind again that maybe this man could be him. Maybe he'd returned to her. Maybe her angel had come back..
No! She couldn't let herself fall under his spell again. He might have been enchanting and seductive and sing with the voice of an angel, but he wasn't one. She had found out the hard way he had a dark, violent nature, and he had proved that to her when he'd killed the poor stagehand. Besides, he was behind her now, and she never intended on seeing him again. That was all in her past, and she loved Raoul. She loved Raoul, and she wouldn't let herself forget that. Besides, all the excitement and heat from dancing probably had her imagining things. This was just an ordinary man who admired her singing as many others did, and was very enjoyable, mysterious company.
She realized she probably seemed extremely rude being so silent like this. A proper lady should always make small conversation. And, they hadn't been properly introduced
"Well, monsieur, I don't believe we've met before. And I didn't quite catch your name, so, if I may be so rude, you appear to have the upper hand for now. You know my name, but I don't know yours"
"Well, that won't do at all, will it mademoiselle? My name is Erik. Erik Destler"
"What a lovely name. It sounds as though it's of French origin'"
"It is, mademoiselle. "
"So, are you a native Frenchman then?"
"You could say that, mademoiselle. But, I have traveled quite a bit, when I was much younger of course. I've been across several different continents and countries, but none of them are as beautiful as Paris. And no building I've ever seen can surpass the beauty of this Opera House. I understand it's served as your home?"
"Yes, it has. I came to live here when my father died. I trained in the ballet corps, and began to sing later."
"So, did you teach yourself to sing, or were you tutored?"
Erik was getting closer to revealing himself now. He knew she was beginning to realize it by the look on her face
She stared at him with a blank expression on her face, her eyes cold "I was tutored, monsieur"
"Who is this great tutor, Miss Daae? He's obviously done a fantastic job"
He felt her stare go straight through him, piercing his heart with her icy gaze
"I'm not quite sure monsieur"
"You don't know the name of your own tutor?"
"No. Sometimes it's as if he doesn't exist. As if he's a Phantom, or a spirit, living in me" she whispered , choosing her words carefully.
He leaned closer towards her, gazing into her eyes, straight into her soul "Or an angel?" he whispered in her ear
She knew. In that instant, she knew. She just realized it was him. All doubts and worries left her mind, and she was never more certain of anything in her life as she was that it was him, dancing with her, standing before her.
She began breathing more heavily when the full realization hit her. He was here, the Phantom of the Opera, inside her mind. He had never left her. All the feelings she hadof safety and warmth and comfort instantly left, and were replaced by a sudden cold feeling of despair and danger. She had never been free of his spell. She never would be free of his spell.
"You" she whispered accusingly, looking sharply up at him
He forced himself closer against her, until her chest pressed up against his. He stooped down slightly and sang quietly into her ear:
"I am your angel of music.
Come with me angel of music!"
Before she knew what was happening, he gracefully turned around and around, spinning her about the ballroom faster and faster until all the dazzling colors blurred together as one. He turned sharply, and spun them both into a far corner of the ballroom, hidden from sight by the grand staircase
She tried not to let it show how much he frightened her, but her eyes betrayed her. She went to move away from him, but shielded her with his body. He stroked her cheek fondly with his gloved hand
"Don't worry, Christine, I'm not going to hurt you. I could never do anything like that to you. Not like you did to me"
She starred at him oddly "What? What are you talking about?"
"Christine, think! You ran off, leaving me behind. I waited for you to return, for so long. I kept believing, maybe, you still had a place in my heart for me, and like a fool, I kept believing you still needed me, that you weren't completely infatuated with that empty-headed Vicomte of yours"
Like a flash, her hand moved up sharply, stinging the unmasked side of his face as her hand collided with his skin in a sharp, cold slap.
"How dare you insult him! You killed a man Erik! You did unspeakable things! What was I to do? You seemed so dark and violent, and Raoul, he, he, comforted me. He didn't threaten me, or try to force me to love him-"
"But you had no problem doing so!"
She moved to slap him again, but he caught her wrist in his firm grasp. He turned around, forcing her back against the marble pillar behind her. His face was a few inches from hers.
"Christine, I got you to where you are now. I was your angel for so long. You needed me, Christine, and I needed you too. You wanted to sing for me."
"Erik, I was a child then. I was so confused and upset, I just needed someone, anyone to believe in!"
There were now tears streaming down her face. Her body was shaking and he saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she frantically breathed
He gently turned her around in front of him, his arms lightly grasping hers in a gentle embrace. He stroked her soft curls fondly, felt her warm body safe in his arms. He kissed the top of her head lightly, and began singing to her softly:
"Say you'll share with me
One love one lifetime
Say the word and I
Will follow you
Share each day with me
Each night, each morning"
She gasped and turned sharply to face him
" You betrayed me, Christine. That hurt worse than anything else in the world. I gave you everything I had. I love you with every being in my body, and show you so much, guide you so much, and then you betray me. I gave you my music .I made your song take wing, Christine. And then, to repay me, you break my heart. How could you?"
She looked at him sadly "You heard, didn't you? You really were there that night, so long ago. How much did you hear..-"
"Every word. Every vile, cruel word Christine. All of it."
"So, you know about Raoul and-"
"Yes. Yes I do" he said curtly, silencing her
She stared at him for a moment, a cold, icy glare in her eyes that held no trace of the warm, familiar young girl he had once known. She had become a woman now, with no use for him anymore.
"Then you know that this can't continue Erik. No more of this Angel business. No more following me, singing to me, seducing me! " she said, an ice cold fury dripping from her voice
"Christine, I never-"
"We can't go on like this, Erik. We just can't. I'm sorry." she said, her tone more gentle now as she gently stroked his cheek with her gloved hand.
He fought to keep the cold tears of pain and loss from rolling down his cheek before Christine could see them, but it was no use. She gently wiped them from his eye with her hand, dragging it slowly down his cheek to feel the outline of his face before resting it on her heart.
"Christine, you have to understand. I never meant to do any of this to you. I love-"
"No, please, don't start, Erik. It will only be more painful for us both later on"
Her tone had softened from ice cold fury she had felt moments before to pity. She looked up at him with understanding and sympathy, making no attempt to mask the emotion on her face.
He hated that look on her face now, even more than her face when she was furious at him. He knew how she felt about him, how she thought he was a pathetic fool, some cruel monster than only lusted for her and deserved only her sympathy. Well, he'd prove her wrong, soon enough.
He turned his face away from hers sharply, no trace of emotion or longing left in his distinguished, smooth voice.
"Well, I suppose that this is the best solution for the both of us then." he said, leaning closer towards her ear in a mockingly cruel tone " I do hope you will share one love, one lifetime with your precious Vicomte, Mademoiselle Daae, and remember that you're only spending such with him because of my tutoring, my guidance, and my broken heart. And you will remember that every day of your life, because I will never truly leave you for good"
She looked up at him sharply, trying not to let on how much he was frightening her. What could he mean by that? Was he never going to leave her? Would she never be free of him?
All sorts of panicking, frightening thoughts were racing through her mind as she cleared her throat and responded in a formal, cool voice
"I have no idea what you mean, Monsieur. The Vicomte de Changy and I have been very close friends since childhood, and our romance has not been influenced by you in any way whatsoever."
He laughed mockingly "Oh, and I see now you've become the proper society matron once more. Well, I wouldn't want to use up any more of your valuable time, since I spy your little knight in shining armor waiting for you, Christine"
She turned away from him to see that Raoul was indeed in the far corner of the ballroom, waiting for her entrance.
Erik gently turned her face back around with his gloved hand, tilting her face up towards his.
"I suppose the mere sight of him makes you forget your Angel."
She jerked her head away from his grasp, turning to leave. He grasped her hand suddenly, and gently brought it to his lips in a gentle kiss. She watched him do it for a moment, felt herself falling back under his magical spell. He was now too dignified and collected to plead with her again, but he pleaded with her with his eyes, begging her not to leave him again. She was so torn. Maybe he was right. Maybe she had forgotten her angel.
She shook her head, breaking the golden moment between them. She was sorry to disappoint him, but she had to.
"Goodbye, Angel." she whispered sadly
He watched her go, drifting away from him yet again into the arms of her loving Vicomte, watched her face mold into one of happiness and delight. No one would ever know of her stolen instance with her angel now, as that insolent boy placed his necklace around her neck. She belonged to him now. No one would ever know of her forgotten love for her angel.
No one ever heard Erik's desperate voice whisper hoarsely
"Christine, I love you"
--------------------------------
Christine waltzed gaily around the ballroom with Raoul, trying to put that incident with Erik out of her mind. Her face must have given away her worried, despairing thoughts for Raoul noticed and asked
"Christine, what's wrong?"
She was shaken back to reality by his voice. Erik didn't matter now. He wasn't a part of her world any longer, and never would be. She needed to forget the past spent with him, and concentrate only on her present, spent with her darling, wonderful Raoul.
She forced a smile of happiness and joy "Nothing. Absolutely nothing"
The rest of the evening went splendidly, and she had nearly forgotten her encounter with Erik. Until she saw a flash of red dart from pillar to pillar in the balcony. Until she heard the music stop suddenly, saw the lights dim as couples stopped dancing merrily, heard the shrill screams of terror. She didn't want to know, but she did. She forced herself to look up at the top of the staircase where he stood, vicious and majestic, dangerous and powerful in his red death suit.
And she knew that now what he had said was true. She never would be free of his spell, once she heard the familiar cold voice of her angel begin singing
"Why so silent, good messieurs?
Did you think that I had left you for good..."