Eyes Without a Face, a phantom of the opera fanfic

Title: Eyes Without a Face

Author: Cybermaiden/ViciousValentine

Email: R for and possibly higher for the adultfan version.

Pairing: Meg/Erik (Phantom)

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera in any of its incarnations. Also, Eyes Without a Face belongs to Billy Idol.

Notes: This will be heavily based on the 2004 movie with some referencing from the horror version with Robert Englund.

I spend so much time

Believing all the lies

To keep the dream alive

Now it makes me sad

It makes me mad at truth

For loving what was you

Les yeux sans visage - eyes without a face

Got no human grace, you're eyes without a face.

Trudging amongst a mob of angry opera workers and policemen, a single ballerina named Meg sought to keep her footing ahead of the throng. She felt like she was leading them, but she was descending into the bowls of the opera for her own reasons, lynching the Phantom not being one of them. In the back of her mind she knew he would be in danger if he was still there when she reached his lair, but he had brought much of this upon himself. She only needed to know that her mother and Christine were unharmed. Besides, Madame Giry described him as a genius so surely someone of his clever and resourceful nature could find his way out of such situations.

As they charged the roar of the screaming opera goers and the fire lessened until it could not be heard. Upon reaching the lower levels she was forced to wade through water. She was glad to be clothed in the trappings of a man, skirts would have been quite the handicap. Her speed increased when she passed the threshold of the gate leading to the shore of the Phantom's abode. Meg's blond hair thrashed about wildly as she moved her head, hurrying about looking for any signs of her dearest friend and her beloved mother. She barely batted an eye at the model of Christine, looking out at her with a blank expression. She passed through into the next room, nothing seemed amiss, save the broken shards of mirror surrounding her. No one lingered. She slowed her movements slightly, taking in the room around her. The surrounding furnishings were opulent yet the rooms could only be described as murky and dank against the backdrop of wet stone. Amongst the objects that caught her eye were the monkey music box and a sliver of white just beside it.

"His mask!" She gasped, gently picking it up. Brown eyes darted about the room, as if speaking of it would call upon the wrath of its master. A pair of policemen entered the room after her.

"Are any of them in here?"

Meg swiftly held the mask behind her back. "No messieurs, they may have gone back up one of the other passages, this place is rife with them."

"Damn!" One of the officers exclaimed, both of them turning on their heels and barking at the others to follow them, telling them that the Phantom was not there. Before she could warn them that the other ways may very well be booby trapped, the mob had departed under the gate.

Meg was surprised they did not search the area more thoroughly, but they could always come back. Right now they were only interested in chasing him down, not finding out what had happened down here. Meg, however, wanted a better look around. Clasping the leather mask in her hand Meg perused the array of sheet music and sketches that littered many surfaces in the room. Lovingly crafted likenesses of Christine rendered in charcoal and in song. The petite blond wondered how much of this and the Phantom's life work would survive if the others came back to exact their revenge on his belongings. She decided quickly that she should save what she could so that his brilliant, albeit fractured mind would not be forgotten posthumously, or so that she could return his belongings should he have survived. Rummaging around she came across a leather satchel in which she stuffed pages and pages of writing and drawings. When she had filled it she then slipped the white mask inside and then closed it, giving everything else one last cursory glance. Her gaze fell once again upon the music box. She could never hope to carry it all the way back without risk of breaking it, so she left it behind along with the rest of his worldly possessions. He could replace those things, but not the work she held now, close to her body as she fled the underground.

Elsewhere, deeper in the caverns below than anyone imagined or knew existed, Erik bided his time in the darkness. He would return in a few days when things had died down, to see what of his home was not consumed by rampage of those he had wronged. Crouched low against the stone wall of the passage he wept. He wondered if there was really any reason he should go on living, but found there was none except that he could never allow himself to be that weak. He didn't know whether or not he would continue on as the Phantom, but he would continue on.