AUTHOR'S NOTE: If I get some positive feedback, or even negative feedback, I think I will start this as a real story, adding more chapters as I can. I'm not exactly sure where this is going yet, but please, stay tuned for when I finally do. Thanks for reading!
NOTE: The Phantom of the Opera does not belong to me. Christine Daaé, Erik, and anything else belongs to Gaston Leroux, the author. All writing and ideas are mine, however.
'Breathe deep. Hold it. Focus. Exhale on "doe".'His long, skeleton like fingers moved over the organ keys, producing a rich sound which echoed throughout the underground lair. Although it was a simple scale, the music the man produced was enchanting and beautiful. The musician, as well as the music, had a rather mysterious feel.
'Back straight!' he demanded as the young soprano quickly straightened her back, still singing "doe" to his melody. 'You will see, Christine, that the things you learn from me will help you. When you sing for a crowd of hundreds, they will all applaud you and your magnificent voice!'
As he spoke those last words, he pressed down hard on the keys, and a loud chord filled the room. The lesson was now just beginning.
The man who wore the white mask stood up. His long black cloak folded at the ground and around his arms. Only his hands and head could be seen.
'You have come so far Christine! Your sound rings in my head, which is what a good singer leaves behind.' He sounded joyful, but she knew that would not last for long. 'However,' he continued, 'It sounds as if a cat is being strangled. The sound is squeezed, and we mustn't have that. Open your throat wide, let the air flow through.'
He sat at the organ again, and placed his fingers on the keys once more. 'This time, on "la." Hold each note for five counts, and then release. Feel the ringing in your head.'
With that, he started playing once more. Christine stood; back straight, breathing as best she could. Her throat opened as far as it could go, and out came a sound so pure, the man though heaven had opened its gates. He stopped playing, put his head in his hands, and wept.
Christine was unsure of what to do. She gently put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, rose from his chair, and left the room. She knew better than to follow him. Tonight he would be left alone.
The next morning, Christine Daaé awoke to the sounds of an organ being played. Rising, with sleep still in her eyes, she put on her white lace robe, and walked out into the main room of the underground lair. Across from her was a hunched figure at the organ, hitting the keys with much intensity.
She stood, 10 feet away from him, yet it seemed like they were so much closer. She remembered the day she had removed his mask as he played his composition, Don Juan Triumphant. She remembered the horror she felt as she stared at the misshapen face that the musical genius wore.
Eyes sunk deep into his head and a black hole where the nose would be. His cheekbones raised high, and his skin so yellow and taught, it was like a hide from a skinned animal. His lips were extremely thin and didn't stick out at all. They blended into his chin and skin below his "nose." His hair was thin, only a few strands on his whole skull, which had blemishes and cuts all over it.
The face had given Christine nightmares for days. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the Phantom's yellow eyes staring at her. Nothing she did could get the image out of her mind. But, as she was around him more and more, she began to see him for who he was.
True, he did have a face like a monster, but his heart was kind. He wanted to be loved. To know that someone cared about him. Although he lashed out at the world, he was really a simple man. Composing his music and inventing, his lair covered with trinkets and things he had made, things the world would never see.
As Christine came out of thinking about the past months, she realized the music had stopped, and Erik, now turned on the organ stool, was looking at her.
"My dear," he started. "I am very sorry for running out on you last night. Your voice...it has... your voice has come so far. It is so pure, so astonishingly beautiful."
"Thank you, Erik. But I owe it all to you."
"No, my dear. I showed you the door, but you walked through it."
She paused for a moment to think. "Erik, can I... if it's alright with you... go back up?"
Erik stood. "Yes, my dear Christine, it is time."
He walked to the arched doorway and went through, down to the dock, and untied the boat waiting there. Christine followed suit a moment later, and the two of the boarded. Slowly, Erik pushed off from the wood pier, and steered the boat through the water, into the shadows.