Okay saw Phantom of the Opera (2004 movie), and OH MY GOD! It was amazing. The singing and acting made my heart pound it was so awesome. And like most I was unhappy (pissed) at the ending. It couldn't have ended like every other romance movie.

So I will try and fix that. However as of now my inner muse won't let me write the story unless I have my OC Saphira Sparrow. Only I have giving her the French name, Mariana la Clare, for story convenience. If you don't like the idea then click out. Don't hunt me down for it, I obey my muse.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Though I so wish I did.

Nice reviewers get ice cream ;)

Paris 1870

The Opera Populaire was a madhouse as of late. They were once again rehearsing for their latest performance of Hannibal. If one could call it a rehearsal. The stagehands were either stumbling around already tipsy at nine in the morning, or fighting over pros.

Monsieur Reyer, taut as the string instruments he conduced, barked orders at his musicians. Madame Giry stomped her cane to keep her ballerinas in time. The woman took her dancing seriously and would not stand for laziness or sloppiness. And the theatres own prima donna, La Carlotta, stood center stage screeching at the top of her lunges what were supposed to be the lyrics to the song.

All this was laid out for the personal viewing of a small girl of ten, from her secret hiding spot, up higher then the stagehands posts. The girl's name was Mariana la Clare. Mariana was the pseudo-apprentice of the theatre's opera ghost.

Although she knew he was no phantom, ghost, or ghoul, but a man by the name Erik. The whole opera knew of and rightfully feared him. He made a compelling argument: Do as I say and the opera house won't fall to ruin.

She and Erik had been friends for a good three years, and she knew what lay behind his mask. Much to his surprise she was not scared at all of him. He invited her to stay with him in his home in the catacombs beneath the opera house, so long as she did as he asked.

Which mainly involved watching the opera's many activates, using her 'normal' appearance to blend in and do things he could not, which was easy with the skills she gleaned from him, and of course, keep an eye on his darling angel, Christine.

She liked Christine very much. When she sang for Erik, he mentioned her, or so much as thought of her, his eyes lit up in joy and happiness. Anything that made her friend that happy, she was happy about as well. As of now she was squirming with excitement. Erik was at long last going to reveal himself to his beautiful Christine.

They had it all planned out. They were going to step on La Carlotta's last nerve and make her quit (for real this time), so the managers would have to give the lead to Christine. After her big night, Erik would finally grant her, her wish to see him, and show her his world of music.

Mariana sighed fondly, wishing her friend the best of luck. He deserved a girl like Christine. Mariana tried her best but she was still a little girl, and could not fully repair the damage the world inflicted on Erik's heart. She had seen the look in Christine's eyes when she talked to 'her angel', she loved him as well. She couldn't wait for tonight.

Down below the manager, Monsieur Lefevre, came onstage in the company of the two soon-to-be managers, and demanded everyone's attention; much to La Carlotta's annoyance.

"Tone-deaf dive," Mariana muttered under her breath. "Not fond of her, are you?" a deep male's voice sounded directly behind her. Erik certainly earned his phantom status. "Hello Erik," she greeted cordially. "And no I'm not, but try naming someone who is," she scoffed, causing Erik to laugh.

His laugh, much like his singing voice, was powerful, even in small quantities. He didn't do that enough in her opinion, so she strove to make him whenever the moment presented itself. Down below Lefevre had just announced his retirement, as they had known of for about two weeks, and introduced his successors; a Monsieur Andre, and Monsieur Firmin.

From their perch Mariana saw some of the ballerina's giggling to each other. 'They must be rich.' Mariana read their lips, a talent she learned from Erik, and rolled her eyes at their vainness. Money and fame that's all people seemed fixated on. She and Erik never understood the attraction for either.

"We are pleased to introduce our newest patron, Vicomte de Chagny!" the new manager Andre announced, as a man in a gray suit strutted up on the stage. He was quite handsome, and was fully aware of the fact. If his blatant hair flip for a few moony eyes girls near by was any indication.

"What. A. Fop," Mariana said repulsed. Erik chuckled and ruffled her hair affectionately.

Rehearsals started back up, La Carlotta blissfully got off the stage, as the ballerina's began to work on their part. They were the more organized group in the opera house, thanks to Madame Giry. But their routine and clothes seemed every inauthentic for shackled prisoners.

Erik didn't even seem to notice the routine, for his eyes were locked on Christine as she danced. She was quite graceful. A small content smile spurred across his lips.

Once the piece was over La Carlotta began screeching about something, the only thing that wasn't grabbled Italian was "I QUIT!" Mariana rolled her eyes. Honestly that banshee 'quit' three times a week, forcing Lefevre to lavish her with praise and expensive gifts to make her stay. It was no wonder why he was retiring in the first place. Why keep a no talent hag was beyond her.

Erik's hand on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts. "Come," he ordered softly. Silently they stole through the opera's many secret passageways, up to the rigging above the stage.

Erik went off to lie in wait, while Mariana set up her favorite and most effective ruse. She positioned a lamp just so, so it would cast her shadow against the wall, making her look taller then she was.

She softly cleared her throat, and threw her voice. "Yoo-hoo, Jo-Jo," she giggled seductively to a stagehand by the name Joseph Buquet, otherwise known as the biggest pervert in the opera house. Already half drunk Mariana had no problem convincing Buquet to leave his post, for a more desirable activity, and allow Erik to work his chaotic magic.

Once Buquet was gone Mariana scampered off to re-join Erik. Just then La Carlotta began to 'sing' one of her arias for the play that night. They both cringed at her impossibly high and off-key notes. Erik quickly undid the ropes responsible for holding up the backdrops.

Mayhem erupted on-stage as the actors ran and screamed in fear as the canvas came crashing down on La Carlotta. She screamed and pounded the floor in outrage. Mariana forced down a fit of laugher at the sight.

Buquet, having discovered his mystery girl was nowhere to be found and realizing through his drunken haze that his job was in jeopardy, leaned over the gears and began pleading with the new manager's. "Please don't look at me, sirs! God as my judge I wasn't at my post."

Erik spotted Madame Giry and let his letter flutter down to her; she would take care of the rest. Then with their tasks complete they returned to their underground home.

*.*.*

Mariana hung up her cloak as soon as they returned, then went to her self-appointed of seeing to the black stallion, Cesar. "Hey there, boy. Did you miss me?" she asked, stroking his long face gently. Cesar whinnied softly, and then nudged her shoulder, making her giggle.

She picked up a brush and began grooming him. "You have a very pretty lady to impress tonight. Can't have you looking all grimy, now can I?" she joked. A shuffling sound made her look up from her task.

Erik's nerves were starting to get the better of him. He was pacing frantically, picking things up only to put them right back down, and muttering under his breath. She gazed sadly at her friend.

She didn't know what to say that would dismiss his worries. She could not say things would work out, because on the off chance they did not she didn't want him even more upset. And she couldn't openly help him with his wardrobe, because he would take it as her subtly telling him he was ugly.

Which was ludicrous. Even without the mask she thought he was quite handsome, but he never took it to heart. Quietly she put the brush down and crept to his closet. She selected a simple yet elegant outfit and a cloak with gold silk lining, which was sure to make him look smashing without being too obvious. Then positioned it so it would stand out when he opened it.

With that done she returned to the main room, where she found him at his organ. He had just finished tying a ribbon around a blood red rose, and was staring at it hopefully.

Sensing her gaze he looked up from the rose. "I apologize for forcing you out for the night my friend," he said awkwardly. "I have no problem seeking new accommodations for the night," she assured. "Come now, we should get ready for your angel's big debut," she coaxed easily. "It'll be a truly grand evening, listening to her sing," he agreed confidently.

*.*.*

Christine was singing like a true angel from Heaven, just as Erik had predicted. Unfortunately he could not see her in all her splendor, as his new managers had sold his box out to the new fop of a patron.

Erik opted to leave him be, wanting to conserve his energy for his night with Christine. Mariana offered to throw him out, but he assured her it was enough for him to just listen. He had caused enough of a scene today he'd rather not push his luck. He wondered sometimes if his dark side was corrupting the poor girl, but she assure him even if he were, she did not care in the least.

He was glad to have her. Her companionship made his lonely life in the shadows more bearable, but he wanted…needed love. The love only his other half could grant him. A light to balance his dark. He believed that very light could be found in Christine. His gorgeous, elegant angel; his Christine.

Christine's voice was a sensation; it moved people to tears with its pureness. It was simply magical. Once it was over the audience gave her the highest form of approval in the theatre; a standing ovation. Erik softly joined in, not wanting to be heard.

It felt good to know he played a special part in her success. Christine was aware of it as well and was always grateful for his praise. She once told him; she was only as good as she was because of him.

The joy that had pulsed through him at such a simple statement knocked him breathless. She had only ever asked one thing of him, the one thing he was most fearful of; to show himself. He hated to cause her any form of disappointment or hurt, but now no longer.

Tonight he would reveal himself to her. To step out of the shadows and show her that although he was not a true angel, he would do whatever it took to make her soar in happiness.

He would show her everything in his world; his music, his home, Mariana, but not his face. Never his face. If she saw his face she would never be able to look past it to see all he had to offer her; to let her spirit shine as bright as the stars.

Mariana was a special case; she cared very little for, in her opinion, what were small superficial trifles, such as someone's appearance. If only the world shared these thoughts. But it was not so. He knew the world could be dark, cruel, and painful, but it could also have rays of light. He hoped, wished, and prayed his Christine could be that ray that shined on him.

His Christine. He hoped by this time tomorrow there would be some truth to the statement.

*.*.*

Quickly he darted through the opera's secret passages, and soon arrived at the chapel; their meeting place. Silently from the shadows he watched as she lit a candle for her father. The flames glow, illuminated against her soft skin, made her look every bit the angel she sang as. The moment was perfect.

"Brava. Brava. Bravissima," he sang softly to her. She glanced around, her face alight with a smile. She adored it when he sang to her. Just as he was about to step out of his hiding place, Madame Giry's daughter Meg, called out to her, thus gaining her attention.

"Christine," he whispered. She looked back for him but once again Meg interrupted. Meg praised her friend for her outstanding performance, and inquired how she became so great.

He knew she would tell her, but would the girl believe her? Christine explained how as her father lay dying he promised to send her an Angel of Music, to give strength to her voice. From the look on her friends face, she did not believe a work of it. She looked at Christine as though she were crazy.

"Christine, do you believe…" she bit her lips tentatively. "Do you think the spirit of your father's coaching you?" she asked gently. "No. He sent me an angel and it's the angel that teaches me," she explained.

"Father once spoke of an angel, I use to dream he'd appear," she sang. You'll get your wish soon my darling Christine, Erik thought, smiling at her from his hiding spot.

"Now as I sing I can sense him and I know he's here. Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside hiding. Somehow I know he's always with me, he the unseen genius." A genius, was he? This was surely a good night to reveal himself.

"Christine, you must have been dreaming. Stories like this can't come true," Meg protested gently, looking very worried for her friend and began to lead her away from the room. Christine looked back mournfully at the room; she hadn't spoken to her angel yet.

"Christine you're talking in riddles and it's not like you!" Meg cried as she coaxed her friend away. No matter, Erik would be with his Christine tonight, he was sure of it. He turned and took another passageway that lead to her dressing room mirror.

*.*.*

Madame Giry battled her way through Christine's admirers, Christine trailing close began her. She shoved her into the room and barked at the people to leave her alone. After shutting the door she turned to Christine with a rare smile on her face.

But Christine's attention was on a blood red rose with a black silk ribbon tied in a perfect bow around its stem. "He is quite pleased with you," Madame Giry murmured. Gently Christine picked up the rose to get a closer look.

The phantom was as mysterious as her angel. She had often wondered if her angel and the phantom were one and the same, but always dismissed such silly fancies. But still she would like to see both her hidden admirers.

She looked up to Madame Giry, but found her gone. Sometimes that woman was as quiet as the phantom. Sighing, she sat down at her vanity, and stared wistfully at her rose. Then a voice broke through her musings.

"Little Lottie, let her mind wonder," a man's voice recited. Oh how she hated that poem! Earlier that day she had seen her childhood 'friend', Raoul. When she mentioned this to Meg, she had misinterpreted her tone as wistful for him to notice her, but truly she was wistful for him not to.

As children, he had followed her around like a lost puppy. She had been polite to him as her father had taught her to be toward everyone. But if she had had it her way she'd never have been in the same room as him. He was so immature then, and from his hair flip this morning he had not changed in the slightest.

"Little Lottie thought, am I fonder of dolls, or goblins, or shoes?" Raoul asked, striding toward her with a large colorful bouquet of flowers. They're were extravagant and no doubt highly expensive but they seemed dull next to the single rose given in care.

"Raoul," she murmured, smiling politely at the flowers, they reminded her of the garden in her fathers yard. He mistook the smile for him. "Or fiddles or frocks," he continued with his poem.

"Those picnics in the attic," she said nostalgic. That you came uninvited to, she added mentally. She loved her quiet picnics; it gave her time to be with her many thoughts, dreams, and such. But when he came she had to put them on hold. A truly annoying hassle.

"Or chocolates," he said, but was ignored as her mind turned to happier moments. "Father playing the violin," she sighed wistfully. Oh how she missed him! "As we read to each other dark stories of the north," he added kneeling in front of her.

She liked those stories, though she much preferred to make up her own. In her stories the 'villain' won, because it made it unique, different. But of course her favorites were the ones her father told her of the Angel of Music. Speaking of her angel.

"No Lottie said." She didn't much care for the name, but she would polite and play the along. "Is when I'm asleep in my bed and the angel of music sings songs in my head," she sang. "The angel of music sings songs in my head," she repeated as he joined in.

He really wasn't a very good but then he wasn't trained by… she wondered if he would believe her. Surely not. He cared only for money and his image. She remembered one time in their childhood, he had tripped in a mud puddle and soiled his pants leg, and he wailed like a newborn until the adults calmed him.

The memory made her giggle. He embraced her, and she him so as not to be rude. "You sang like an angel tonight," he praised softly in her ear. Her head filled with thoughts of her angel, making her giddy enough to throw caution to the wind.

"Father said when I'm in Heaven child; I will send you an angel of music. Well father is dead, Raoul. And I have been visited by the angel," she said. "Oh no doubt of it!" he agreed whole-heartedly.

She couldn't believe it, someone finally believed her. Maybe he had matured after all and his behavior this morning was merely him keeping up appearances. She was a theatre girl, she could understand that.

"And now, we go to supper," he announced. Her happiness vanished; he hadn't believed a word she said. He thought she was joking! She felt like a complete fool. "No Raoul. The angel of music is very strict," she lied.

Her angel was rarely ever mad at her. The reason for her lie was because Meg had made her leave their place before she could talk to her angel. She had hoped to return after her admirers had left. But now Raoul wanted to take her away as well, hence her lie.

"Well I shan't keep you up late," he joked. Laughing in almost a girlish manner. He ignored her protest. "You must change! I'll get my carriage. Two minutes…Little Lottie." Ugh not that name again. "No Raoul! Wait!" she pleaded, but he was gone.

She sighed heavily. Well there went her plans with her angel. Just like her childhood, he made her decisions for her, and never accepted no for an answer. With nothing else to do, she went to change out of her costume. Outside her room, Mariana quietly locked the door, and then took her leave.

*.*.*.*

(Christine's pov)

I had just emerged of behind my changing rack when some of my candles were mysteriously snuffed out. My room had no windows and my door was closed. So why were they out?

The last couple of candles blew out, plunging the room into darkness. Something wasn't right. I turned to leave when a strong, familiar voice boomed like thunder all around me.

"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion. Basking in your glory!"

I let out a quiet sigh of relief. My angel had come for me! He was right about Raoul; he had only come to see me because of my new found fame. If I was still a dancer, and a chorus girl, he never would have spared me a thought.

"Ignorant fool! This brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph," my angel sang. It was as much my night as his, but if not for him I never would have had a night. He desired some praised for all the hard work invested in me.

I turned to face where I thought his voice came from, difficult to tell when the room echoed. "Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, master!" I sang out to him.

I was glad he had come to visit. It was my secret desire for my angel to be a real, flesh and blood man. I loved my angel down to the core of my soul that soared high above Paris when he sang to me. My blood raced at the thought of actually being in his presence, that he would reached out and hold me close, to be mine forever. But these were such foolish thoughts! It did me no good to dwell on what could never happen.

"Flattering child, you shall know me. See why in shadows I hide. Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside!" My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. Could it be? Would I finally get to meet my angel? Wordlessly I obeyed. There in the mirror beside my reflection was a masked figure.

I must have pictured my angel a thousand times, since he first spoke to me. I envisioned him, not as an angel in pure white robes, a halo, and wings, but to have a dark and mysterious edge to him. I wanted him to be my opposite; a dark to balance out my light. The one in my mirror was everything I'd hoped; perfect.

Slowly I made my way to him. I was certain if I moved too fast all this would disappear and leave me a wreck. "Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory! Angel of music, hide no longer, come to me, strange angel!" I sang out, hardly believing this was really happening.

I was so close to the mirror, I was bound to bump against the glass, shattering the dream. But as I drew near I realized the mirror had been moved aside, revealing a secret passageway. Then once I was past the mirrors frame, realization struck me like lighting.

My angel was no angel; he was a man like any other, though with the voice of an angel. Then the reason for the mask fell into place. He was not only my angel, and a man, but the phantom of the opera!

All these thoughts and realizations did not frighten me, quite the contrary it made this meeting even more precious. I was at long last meeting my angel, who had been there for me after my father's passing, and the phantom whose actions always seemed to benefit my career. And they both were a man; they were everything I dreamed they would be.

"I am you angel of music. Come to me angel of music," he sang softly, coaxing me closer. Faintly I was aware of a thumping sound coming from my door, Raoul calling out to me, but I firmly ignored him. He would not interrupt my fun this time.

This phantom was not the one everyone in the opera house feared, he was always kind and gentle toward me. My angel beckoned me with his black leather clad hand, as if I needed more coaxing. Without the slightest hesitation placed my hand in his and let him pull me into his world and left mine behind.

*.*.*

Where he was taking me or where we were, I didn't know, nor did I care. I was completely utterly focused on the man guiding me, and nothing else. The masked side faced me; occasionally he would glance back at me. Gauging my expression for any change, and making sure I was in fact there.

I knew the feeling, and now that I knew he was indeed a man, he was sure to be as nervous of our encounter as I was. But the warm hand holding mine, gently yet firmly was a pleasant weight that kept me grounded. Please let this not be dream, or if it is may I never awaken.

His left side was unmasked, much to my delight. In the theatre I had had many a handsome gentleman pointed out to me by the other dancers, but this man simply outmatched them all. With his smooth pale skin, hair as black as a raven's feathers and looked just as soft.

I had to resist the urge to run my fingers through it, maybe later once we were better acquainted. He had two flawless emeralds with gold flacks that posed as his eyes. They were so gorgeous, I was hard-pressed to not believe he wasn't an angel. And yet a small part of me was saddened by our meeting. He was perfect, completely simply perfect and i was a simple clumsy dancer. What did he want with me?

I hoped to find some form of blemish on him but immediately shoved such a cruel thought aside. It was impossible selfish of me to wish such a thing. If this perfect creature wanted me, I would offer no protest. At the end of a winding staircase, a well groomed black stallion waited patiently for us.

My angel continued to surprise me. I adored horses; my father had a few when I was growing up. He helped me into the saddle. I could have done it on my own but I loved having him close.

He took the reins and guided the horse through a labyrinth of travels. I never know all this existed down here, it added to the mystery of the night. Soon we came to an underground river with a gondola bobbing on the water.

Gently yet firmly he took me by my waist, he helped me down. I landed quite close to me, close enough that our noses touched. I held my breath, staring deep into his dark green eyes, transfixed.

He seemed unnerved by my closeness. Stepping away, he steadied the boat and helped me into it. As he steered the boat, expertly through even more tunnels I found myself singing to him.

"Those who have seen your face draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear," I sang. "It's me they hear," he responded in kind. His voice never failed to mesmerize me. "Sing my angel. Sing for me," he commanded. Never one to disobey my angel, I opened my month and sang as loudly and purely as possible.

We neared an iron gate that opened with no assistance, revealing his secret lair. It was massive, with literally thousands of candles and candelabras lining the walls and on the water. Red velvet with gold trim curtains hung from the walls, and an organ loomed in a sort of alcove.

The boat rocked a bit when it hit the shore and my angel jumped out gracefully. Once he touched the ground he removed his cape in one swift motion for no other reason it seemed then to remove it. He didn't do things for others approval, he just did what he wanted.

In fact he seemed oblivious to having done it at all; his full attention was focused on me. He opened his mouth and began to sing to me, so sweetly and beautifully I once again had to remind myself he was not an angel.

"I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne, to this kingdom, where all must pay homage to music…music," he sang powerfully, as he bounded up the stairs with swan like grace. A shrine to music itself, it certainly felt as though music of all kinds could be born and raised here.

"I have brought you here for one purpose and one alone." I leaned closer to him, enraptured by his voice. "Since the moment I first hear you sing, I have needed you with me, to serve me to sing, for my music…my music." Did he think me his muse? Me?

Then the mood of the song changed to something passionate, meaningful, and romantic, as he began to make his way back to me.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes the imagination. Silently the senses abandon the defenses." I saw what was in his eyes, and heard what was in his voice; his every word was from the heart. My angel had real feelings for me. Maybe as strong as the ones I had let grow all these years. Dare I hope for it?

He offered his hand to me once more. I took it willingly, and waited with baited breath, hoping to see the same emotions in his eyes for me as I tried to convey mine to him.

"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender." Never have I heard such powerful singing, it was so strong I had to glance away. His warm leather bound hand cupped my chin delicately, as though I were a fine china doll. Making me gasp at his tenderness toward me, as him turned my face back to him.

"Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light-" his hand slid out of mine till he only held my fingers in such a way, I thought he would kiss them. But part of me hoped he wouldn't, for I was certain I would faint from sheer joy, and did not want to embarrass myself in front of this perfect creature.

"And listen to the music of the night." Letting go of my hand completely, he moved around the room to better express his words, his voice growing in passion. His passion made his words almost tangible. It was all-inspiring.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams; purge your thoughts of the life you knew before." Nothing could have come easier to me then to do as he said. His voice alone could carry me to places far beyond Paris, to places I've only read or dreamt of. Oh may this night never cease!

"Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar." The way he drew out that last note sent shivers of pleasure up and down my spine. I felt disconnected from the world. This morning seemed a life-time ago, and now it was just the night, his voice, and I.

"And you'll live, as you've never lived before." His hand was out for the taking and I took it without a second thought. I had already decided at the mirror. I had no chance or urge to deny him anything.

"Softly, deftly music shall caress you. Hear it, fear it, secretly possess you." As he sang he pulled me close to him, and I focused on his soft desirable lips, capable of creating such a heavenly sound. Oh how I wanted to close the gap and claim them. But I did not want to scare him in my abruptness. I would wait a little longer and see where he took it.

"Open up your mind; let your fantasies unwind in this darkness, which you know you can not fight. The darkness of the music of the night." He circled around his organ, his eyes never leaving mine, even when various pipes and candles rose around him. This moment was so intimate I found it hard to breath, my heart racing.

"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the life you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be." To stay here with him, in his world was where I longed to be, to be a part of it as much as he was.

He came out from the organ, slowly stepping toward me; his expression was one of passion, amazement, and desperate longing. These were no doubt reflected on my own face.

"Only then…can you belong…to me," he whispered, his hands ghosting from my neck to my shoulders. He turned me so my back was pressed against his board, strong chest. I laid my head against his masked cheek in utter contentment. My mind almost gone from the combined force of his voice, and his gentle loving touch.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication." His hands slid just below my chest, my eyes closed in pleasure in response. I had read about these things many times, and he far exceeded my expectations. This moment could never be captured in just mere words. So I surrender myself completely to my senses.

Softly he grasped my hand and brought it up to cup his unmasked cheek. It would have been there eventually, but I would play at his pace.

"Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation." I turned to look at him, to assure him I had been doing so, since he spirited me down here. He squeezed my hand in a loving way before leading my somewhere.

Where I didn't care, he could take me to the fiery gates of hell if he so desired, and I would never let him go.

"Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to power of the music that I write. The power of the music of the night." He wrapped his arm around my waist, as if in assurance that he would always be there, by my side. But also as if asking me if I was sure of this. I had never been more sure of anything in my life. I smiled brilliantly, his eyes sparkled in return.

He lead me to a curtained off area. I didn't want to look away from him, but he was pleased with whatever it was so I looked as well. What I saw shocked me. There behind the curtains was an exact replica of myself. So perfect, I thought I was looking in a mirror.

However, unlike a mirror, I was wearing the most gorgeous wedding gown I have ever laid eyes on. So this was the depth of his passion for me. He was as deeply in love with me as I was with him, and he was subtly asking me to be with him forever, as his wife.

I would have turned and given him my very enthusiastic answer. Unfortunately the love and passion of the night consumed me and pulled me down into a new darkness. My last thought was I would tell him in the morning.

*.*.*

(Erik's pov)

My angel fell back, unconscious. I worried I had over stepped my boundaries and shown her the dress too soon. She could have fainted in sheer forwardness of my silent offer…or fainted in horror. Somehow, no matter how careful I was people found a way to be terrified of me. But I shouldn't think that way, I was in the presence of an angel, one who needed my attention.

I caught her before she hit the ground, and cradled her gently to my chest as though she were a fine china doll. Easily I lifted her into my arms. Her head lolled to rest on my shoulder. Did she cuddle into my neck? No, of course not. It was merely cold down here, that's all.

Laying her down on the soft red satin blankets of my bed, I had the most gorgeous view of her elegant, full lips. How easy would it be to just lean down and- No! I had not yet gained her permission for such a bold act.

But I could not resist the urge to caress my hand the full length of her jaw, trying to burn this moment forever in my memory, should this be my only chance at a happy moment. She was far too perfect to even be near the likes of me. But I was too selfish to give her up. I loved her too much.

"You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night," I sang to her as softly as I could so as not to wake her. I reached up and pulled the cord that let the black curtains fall around the bed. I watched her for a moment, a small smile crossed her lips and I was almost sure she wasn't dreaming of me.

I left her to her world of dreams, after first winding up the monkey music box I created. It may remind me of my painful past but it made a lovely tune to awake to. In the main room I pulled out my embossed cards and set to writing.

The first was for Madame Giry. She would need to know the whereabouts of her dancer and that she was safe. I owed her a debt of gratitude for hiding me all these years. She tried to be there for me, but I couldn't ask her to put her life on hold for me.

The second; to Monsieur Andre. It was more of a review really. He seemed the more sensible of the two, no need to further ruffle his feathers when they already were, over every little detail. But for the other, Monsieur Firmin, the pigheaded and vain one, was a reminder for my salary was once again due and a subtle threat to make my point clear.

Truly I didn't care much for money; it only served as a corruption to all good things. But it was a reminder that I played a part in the world above. I wanted nothing to do with it but I did try my best to fill it with beautiful things to cancel out its evil. Like my angel's voice or the chandelier. I grinned at that, to this day no one knew how that chandelier found its way into the opera house.

The next was for that naïve, arrogant fop. He would no doubt stir up a lot of dust at Christine's disappearance. I do not believe him a threat but I would not have him causing trouble for my angel's career with the two fools I have as managers.

And the last would go to La Carlotta. To be perfectly blunt, she was a disgrace to music. But I could not dispose of her like I would the others. For she was a 'lady' and I try to be a gentleman. In that regard I gave her explicit instruction to stay away from the opera house and to not outshine my Christine. Should she ignore my generous warnings then I would have no choice but to act.

I sealed them with my signature seal, a leering skull, and then set them aside to give to Mariana to deliver when she returned. As if summoned by my thoughts, she stepped out of her room, which was hidden behind one of the false mirrors.

She gave no reaction to seeing me, not that she ever had. "I was getting something to occupy my time," she explained gesturing to some papers with her handwriting. "I'll leave you to your night then," she said turning to take her leave. "A moment," I called after her, "Could you deliver these to the appointed recipients?" I asked.

She put her papers down on my organ and looked at who they were addressed to, and grinned. "This is sure to be quite the sight when they get together" she mused before racing off. Ah the innocent carefree youth, I wish I had. Glancing at my organ I notice in her haste to start her 'show' for tomorrow she left her scribbles behind. As I moved them off, the name Don Juan seemed to jump off the page.

Don Juan… The combination of the name and my night with Christine sparked my creative genius. Badgering me with the notes for a captivating, and passionate song. Unable to quall the urge within, I sat down at my organ and began to give sound to the music forming in my mind. I played softly so as to not awaken Christine.

When I'm with my music, time becomes irrelevant. What could have been hours or mere minutes later my Christine's heavenly voice reached my ears.

"I remember there was mist, swirling mist, upon a vast glossy lake. There were candles all around and on the lake there was a boat…and in the boat there was a man." So she knew I was no angel and yet she hadn't stormed off. That was good, wasn't it?

I looked back at her. She stood just outside my bedroom, gazing at me as though she thought me a dream. I returned my gaze to my music and closed my eyes; a sudden bone deep exhaustion gripped me.

I was very much out of my element. Whenever I wanted something, I always achieved it by the use of extortion, blackmail, and/or force. None of these were acceptable in winning my angel's heart.

I felt her slowly approach me as though she were nervous of startling me. Perish the thought! It was I who would be walking on eggshells for fear of scaring her. Then her hand came to rest lightly on my shoulder. This time I when I turned to look at her I marveled at her courage to come this close to me without any coaxing. I had in a sense kidnapped her last night.

Her other hand reached out toward my face. I knew she would not strike me, she had a feisty spirit but I had done nothing to agitate it. And a lifetime of being hit for no other reason then being forced to bare my face made me flinch out of old habit.

Her hand wavered slightly in its course but pressed through anyway. I admired her stubbornness. Then her palm caught my left cheek and began to softly caress it. Her simple touch had every wall and barrier I built over the years to protect my heart crumbling into fine dust and the warmth from her palm warmed me right through to my soul.

It was more loving and sweeter then anything I have ever experienced in my entire life. I leaned into her palm, so absorbed in her warmth was I that I didn't notice her other hand move away from my shoulder until it was too late.

My mask, which shielded my grotesque form from the world, was pulled away. Christine let out a gasp of surprise and like everyone else, disgust. Fool! I berated myself. It was too much to ask that she'd touch me out of care. No one had ever touched me without causing me some kind of pain.

Rage and betrayal consumed my being, my vision blurred with a reddish tinge. In my haze I shoved her to the ground. A small part of my mind that remind unaffected by my rage pleaded with me to calm before the damage became irreversible. But I was too lost in my war path.

"Damn you! You little prying Pandora! You little demon!" I yelled at her as she cowered like a child afraid of monsters in the dark. How accurate! I strode to one of the mirrors and tore off the white sheet covering it. I had them covered to avoid seeing what a monster I looked like, but if Christine to see me so badly then my God, she would.

"Is this what you wanted to see?" I roared, removing my hand from my face bearing the marred, twisted, and disgusting flesh that made up the right side of my face to both of us. The sight of my face stoked the flames that fueled my rage. If I disgusted myself, what hope was there that Christine would not be likewise?

"Curse you! You lying little Delilah! You little viper! Now you cannot ever be free!" Once the words left my lips, I was unsure to whom they were for; me or her. I lured her here with my lies of being her angel. I took advantage of a young girl, deeply saddened and alone after losing her father. I had never been free for one day since I was brought into this cruel, hateful world.

Christine was to be my redemption but she didn't want me. I was the hideous angry monster that would haunt her dreams rather than be the man to set her world aflame with my passion and love. All hope was lost.

More rage filled me as the hopelessness set in. though none of it showed. "Damn you...curse you..." I muttered to myself. Then a small sound reached my ears. Glancing at her from the corner of my eye, my rage was floored and dissipated at the sight of tears streaming down her cheeks.

It's my fault. If my angel wasn't scared of me before she certainly was now. A lifetime of being hurt, gave me the rage with which to deal with those that sought to cause me pain. But she had not meant to hurt me. Now may rage would prevent me from my only chance at some semblance of a life, my light, my angel, my Christine for nothing more then being naturally curious.

I made my angel cry. Only a true monster made angel's cry. I tried to be everything she deserved but I'm an emotional and mental wreck. Far too rough and callous for someone as soft and delicate as she. I wanted so much to soothe her hurt away, but she would no doubt she flinch away from my ghastly form.

"Stranger than you dreamt it, can you even dare to look or bear to think of me?" Fool, you know the answer. Why deepen the blow? She was the last person I ever wanted to have cower at my feet. She would only stay now for fear I'd harm her instead of her wanting to stay because she loved me.

I wanted her to stay because she saw and accepted me for who I really was, not what everyone assumed I was with no proof. The trouble was; I wasn't sure who I am, only what I desired.

"This loathsome gargoyle, who burns in Hell, but secretly yearns for Heaven, secretly, secretly, secretly." What was I hoping to accomplish with this venture? Did I think I could stop her from finding out what lay beneath my mask? I could not force or scare her into loving me, no matter how much I wanted her to, I wanted her willing more.

"Christine..." I turned to her and saw her tense. Slowly, so as to not scare her more then she already was, I climbed the stairs. "Fear can turn to love; you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster."

Pretty words that's all they were. I doubted there was a man behind my face. He had succumbed to the pain and loneliness of this life long ago, leaving the empty shell behind. But there were times I felt him again, when I was near Christine.

"This...repulsive carcass, who seems a beast, but dreams of beauty, secretly, secretly...secretly." I looked back at Christine, who was now looking back at me with a new emotion frozen on her sweet face; sadness. "Oh, Christine..." I whispered miserably. I sunk down onto the stairs, unable to hold my tears at bay any longer.

I had ruined the greatest, most beautiful thing to ever enter my dark miserable existence. I ruined it with my face and rage. I could act noble, proud, and full of confidence all I wished, but the truth was I was terribly unsure and so scared of everything.

I never left anything to chance, Christine being here reminded why I didn't. I could not handle the looks of disgust, fear, pity, and distain. Each look was like a new blow or cut to my already battered heart. Most days it amazed me that it was still beating.

Christine was everything I ever dreamed of. She was to help me not of the personal Hell I couldn't escape from. Slowly, she ventured near me; my porcelain mask trembled faintly as she held it out to me. I took it back, taking great pains to not brush my hand against hers even though I craved the warmth within it.

Turning away, I wiped the tears from my eyes before replacing my mask. Taking a deep breath, I rebuilt the walls around my heart. It had had enough damage done to it, and stood up.

"Come, we must return. Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you," I informed her, my tone detached though not uncaring. As I led her back to the boat I tried not to linger on my utter defeat of losing my angel.

*.*.*

(Christine's pov)

So my angel was not as perfect as he appeared. Of course his disfigured face was a shock. I knew there was something wrong with his face or he would have no need for the mask. The whole right side of his face was hideously disfigured. It looked as though he had been burned, or hit many times, or perhaps both. His beautiful smooth pale left side was such a perfect contrast to it.

But I was not frightened by it. His every scar, knot, and bump was a part of my angel and I loved all of him. I was not shallow like the other dancers; I cared very little for things such as ones money, looks, or title. I wanted someone who loved me and made me feel alive. And there was none better then my angel.

The gasp I let out when I first saw what he hide beneath the mask had been one of sadness, that I had not felt since my father's passing, because I realized, in an instant, how much he must have suffered in his life because of his face.

I saw the damage it had done to him when he was hurled into a fearsome rage. He thought so little of himself. He truly believed his face made him loathsome gargoyle, a repulsive carcass, a monster that I couldn't bare to look at.

His tone, that was once so strong and powerful, was now so small and miserable it made my heart clench in sympathy. I wanted to take him in my arms and prove him wrong on all counts. To tell him he was beautiful and how he made my heart pounded when he sang his soul to me.

But his rage gave me pause; it was like a force of nature and just as unstoppable. I could not fault him for his rage, I violated his trust. Now he would question my reasons for loving him. He'd believe it was for safety rather then love. I didn't have to learn to love the man behind the mask. I already did and always will. He was my angel, my fallen angel.

*.*.*

Okay here's the first chapter hope it's decent. If not don't care, I'm proud of it. Will post more later.