Hello, everyone. This was an idea I had for a while and thought it was time to post it. Hopefully, this will also have a sequel if my idea doesn't get Jossed (then again I still might post it if nobody minds an AU). Also, this mostly applies to the musical, but some details from the book will be added as well. Also rated T for some language, violence, and all that good stuff.
Phantom belongs to Gaston Leroux (or Andrew Lloyd Webber or whatever) and Once Upon a Time belongs to ABC.
Love only skin deep. These words were not comforting to him. Love is blind. Was it? He did not want to think of any of these so-called words of advice about love. Many a time he has heard them. Many a time he was refused this. No, he would follow his own words, his own cold heart about this strange emotion. And he was determined to succeed.
OoOoOoOo
Emma Swan knocked on the door to a dark, old house. She was ordered by "Madame Mayor" to investigate the home, for reasons left ambiguous. Though Emma was suspicious of how it seemed dark and almost depressing compared to the bright atmosphere of Storybrooke, it wasn't exactly a valid reason to barge in people's homes for no reason. Still, she was forced to do as ordered. Her knock was met with silence.
"This is the sheriff," she said. When there was still no answer, she wiggled the doorknob. Much to her surprise it was left unlocked.
The old wood creaked against her feet. Despite the lack of lighting, she could see that the home was furnished with a couch, table, and a crystal chandelier.
"Hello?" she said.
"Yes?" an invisible voice asked behind her. Emma quickly spun around.
"Where are you?"
"I'm here." The voice was behind her again. "I'm here." The voice was above her. "I'm here." A man suddenly stood before her.
"What the hell's going on here? Is this some kind of joke?" For a moment there was no reply. Until…
"Please shut the door; I do hate it when there's this much light in the house."
"Not until you-"
"Please." Emma sighed; she knew she wasn't getting any answers until she did what she was asked. Before she went to close the door, she quickly observed the stranger. He wore a dark suit and white cravat around his neck, looking as though he could be a business partner with Mr. Gold. She couldn't make out his face since it was covered with a thick black veil attached to a black hat, the veil falling right above his mouth.
"Hi, Emma," a little voice said as she closed the door.
"Henry!" she said, "what are you doing here?"
"Just a visit," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.
"He certainly does keep me good company," the stranger replied, "I've known him for quite a while. Ah, I apologize for not introducing myself. I am Erik Specter." Emma shook his cold hand. "Henry has told me much about you, Emma; I have a feeling you and I will get along quite well."
"Uh huh…" she said nodding. "So do you live here?"
"Well, I suppose you could say that; I merely stay here when I don't end up falling asleep at my work."
"What's that?"
"Are you familiar with the Storybrooke Theatre?" Emma nodded her head. "I am- or rather hope- to be a composer there. I have been working tirelessly on a particular piece that I plan to debut there. If only those two idiots running my theatre can get some sense." He said this last sentence under his breath before looking at his wrist. "Hmm… your mother's going to be home soon, Henry; you'd better run along, now. That reminds me; tonight is opening night for their musical. Why don't you two stop by tonight? I assure you it will be interesting."
"Uh… sure." Emma didn't have a huge interest in theatre, but this did sound like an invitation that would be rude to decline.
OoOoOoOo
"Look at this," Henry said opening his book up at a table in Granny's Café that afternoon. Emma looked at the picture; it was a man with a half-masked face in a boat crossing a lake filled with mist with a young woman as a passenger. "The Phantom of the Opera. This is who Erik is. Why else would he be wearing that hat?"
"Maybe he has a bad sunburn?" Emma said. Henry frowned at her. "Hey, it was just a joke."
"Anyway, I think I should show him this after the show tonight."
"What makes you think he'll actually take you seriously?"
"Trust me; I think he knows something other people here don't."
OoOoOoOo"Think of me," a soprano opera singer sang draped in a marvelous costume. "Think of me fondly,
When we've said goodbye.
Remember me,
Ev'ry so often,
Promise me you'll try.
On that day,
That not so distant day,
When you are far away and free.
If you ever find a moment,
Spare a thought for me.
And though it's clear,
Though it was always clear,
That this was never-"
Suddenly, a heavy backdrop crashed down and nearly collapsed on the singer. Though she was not hurt, she was most certainly infuriated. After the stage managers sat her down, they noticed something fall from above; it was a letter. Before they could reach it, a woman in black and her hair tied in a tight bun picked it up and read it herself.
"It is from the Opera Ghost," she said, "He welcomes you to his theatre-"
"His theatre?" one stage manager said.
"And to remind you of his allowance of $20,000."
"Twenty thousand dollars?" the other stage manager exclaimed.
"And that you will keep his private box, box 5."
"Ridiculous!"
"I would advise you to comply, Sir Andre and Firman; he becomes very impatient to those who do not follow his instructions."
"Speak for yourself," the soprano said haughtily.
"La Charlotta, please," Firman said, "these things do happen!" Charlotta paused for a moment, then looked up at the managers.
"These things do 'appen?" she said. "For five year's I've been 'ere, and these things do 'appen. And was there anything don to stop these things from 'appening? No! 'These things do 'appen.' Well, this is not happening! I'm leaving!"
"Charlotta, wait!" but it was too late; she was already out the door and into a carriage by the time they tried to catch up to her. To add insult to injury, lead male Piangi remarked "amateurs" when he followed her. "Now what are we going to do? We can't just cancel opening night!"
"Christine could sing it!" a blonde ballerina said, "she's had lessons." A young woman with brown hair with curls slowly walked out of the crowd.
"Is that so?" Andre said, "Pray tell who this teacher is?"
"I don't know his name," she replied.
"Terrific."
"Give her a chance," Mme. Giry said.
"Oh all right." Timidly, Christine took center stage with everyone keenly watching. Her palms began to sweat, but she took deep breaths as she thought of herself impressing her teacher. Soon, she began to sing.
"Think of me fondly,
When we've said goodbye.
Remember me,
Ev'ry so often,
Promise me you'll try.
On that day,
That not so distant day,
When you are far away and free.
If you ever find a moment,
Spare a thought for me."
OoOoOoOo
At the Storybrooke Theatre, all eyes were on Christine Dane, the rising star of performances. Just about everyone in the small town came to see her, expecting to see the usual Charlotte Croak, but were pleasantly surprised to see a newcomer for once. A very talented one at that. "Wow," Mary Margaret said, "isn't she great?"
"Yeah…" Emma replied. So this is why Erik wanted to bring them here…
Meanwhile, in a box high above the stage, someone else was watching intently.
"Christine?" he said, "Could it be Christine? Bravo! Long ago, it seemed so long ago, how young and innocent we were. She may not remember me, but, I remember her…"
"Flowers fade,
The fruits of summer fade,
They have their seasons so do we.
But please promise me that someday,
You will thing of me…"
The audience let out a thunderous applause. Some even threw flowers on the stage during the curtain call. Sydney Glass, of course, was the first one there to take pictures when he was allowed to have his camera on.
"Wasn't she good?" Henry asked Regina.
"Indeed," she said paying half attention. She of course, knew who Christine really was. And she was determined to make sure things ended in tragedy once again for her instructor.
Yeah, I have no idea what the currency is in the Kingdom, so let's just play along and say dollars. Sorry for any inconsistencies, but read and review please. And virtual cookies to anyone who can guess at what I'm referring to as a "bad sunburn".