Stranger Than Phanfiction Chapter 1: Mel, a phantom of the opera fanfic

Stranger Than Phanfiction

Rating: T for Stuff You Kiddies Just Wouldn't Understand.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom in any form, especially those referenced that include (but are not limited to):
Le Fantôme De L'Opera (The Phantom of the Opera) novel by Gaston Leroux: American Version Text © 1911

The Phantom of the Opera Broadway musical as composed by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber: First West End (London) Performance 1986

And most of all: All the fanfictions referenced and joked about throughout this piece. Those mentioned fanfics are my personal favorites and are worth a good look at and here and there will be references of other fics and their cliché bits with the Mary-Sues. Sometimes this happens on accident. Sorry. I claim no right to own any of them and YES there will be credits at the end!

Dedication: As always, I dedicate to my sister Kit, especially since she was the one to introduce me to PotO. I'd also like to thank Aiden's mom for taking us to see Erik on Broadway. As for Khaladie, prepare to be DiSTUUURBED. But most of all I would like to dedicate this to all the Phanfiction authors out there who don't have a word with their characters from time to time… well, I see mini-convos with a rather grumpy Erik at the end of some. From the good, the bad and the ugly-yet-still-loved Phantom, keep writing, you guys are awesome!

How to Imagine Our Phantom: Some stories make it apparent: movie-based phics have the Gerard Butler image of the muscular man; Leroux-based pieces have the spindly and icy Erik. However, this mash-up and semi-satire of all of these does not tie in to a specific Erik incarnation. While I make it obvious that he is icy and cold like the Leroux tale, certain parts may reference back to certain incarnations like how thin and spider-like his hands are etc. I do this to try to please as many fans as possible but hey, it's hard to do! So basically, whatever Erik suits you. I go into no detail describing his deformity just for that reason: Leroux and Kay phans can think of our skeletal and noseless Phantom while "Lord Andy" fans can think of their Gerry. Just one note for Leroux/Kay phans: his mask is described as only half all the time so for you fans that are awesome and kicking it old skool will have to split the deformities in half. A hint: just imagine him with the mask from the musical that covers his entire nose there. Also, this Erik is not a junkie. Sorry, Kay fans.

About the Stuff Mentioned Here: Much of the plot points, terms, and ideas part of this satire'ific fic come not from my own mind but from those of the honored writers. I have read many phics both good and bad and naming no names for either, I gathered plenty of info and ideas to inspire this. To all the fanfiction writers out there:Thank you!!

Clarity On Infringement: By all means if you truly feel infringed, notify me. I reread the ToS for light-shedding on whether or not this is completely legal and really, I hope you won't kill me as a reader or writer. I mean no infringement, monetary or other gain or commercial use of quotes, phrases or plot-points aforementioned in separate works. This is not meant to infringe but to pay homage to the great works in this category. Before you report me, I hope you will talk to me first so I can properly and personally explain how I really just want to show my utmost respect and reverence for the phanfiction. But if you must...

Chapter One: Mel

"It's far too late for a lady such as yourself to be out here alone," a voice said behind her.

She just kept walking; it was probably her imagination, simply her imagination.

"Shall I escort you home?"

So much for her imagination. The girl rolled her eyes; she hated it when people told her what to do.

"I can manage on my own, thank you."

"But I fear you may catch a chill…"

Suddenly warm, dark material wrapped itself around her shoulders, gloved fingers tying it around her neck. She fought the hands and spun around to see the mysterious stranger- but there was no one there.

"Who or what-?" she asked herself, turning back to walk on, when she bumped into a dark shape standing in her way.

"Oh, pardon me, monsieur, I wasn't looking and-" she looked up. The well-dressed man in front of her was very handsome, with a mass of shiny, dark hair combed back. Only the stark white mask on the right side of his face spoiled somewhat the impact of his appreance.

"Please allow me the honor of escorting you on your walk, there are bound to be worse people than me out here tonight," the man in front of her said.

She scanned her surroundings, full of silent shapes and shadows stalking the sidewalks and making not a single sound. Something in the back of her mind told her to believe him and that he wouldn't give this up.

"Considering you intend to follow me anyway, I suppose I must..."

A half-smile broke over the man's lips and he held out his arm to the mysterious woman. She ignored this gesture and kept walking, smiling inwardly as she felt the cape's thick material billow behind her, caught in the breeze.

Every step made her feel more and more awkward as her footsteps echoed down the silent midnight street, neither her, nor the strange man who walked beside her saying a word.

"Please, sit with me," he softly said at last, breaking the silence and gesturing to a bench.

She sank down immediately, intent eyes glued to the mysterious man, waiting for what he was about to say.

"Does this look real to you?"

"Why, yes, should it not?"

"I've lived here all my life, and it's always been as it is now, always exactly the same. I may be the only person here who knows why."

"And why is that?"

"Would you believe me?"

"Perhaps…" she could not have imagined what he was about to say.

"Something… interesting, something amazing happened here at the Opéra Garnier, almost a hundred years ago and ever since then, the tale of the Phantom of the Opera has been told so many times, and this is one of them."

"W-What? I'm sorry, I don't quite understand."

"This is a fanfiction, a retelling or different story from the original which happened here in 1911."

"1911? But it's only 1870..."

"You must believe me, it is truly the year 2009 beyond the story."

"Beyond the story? 2009? And how can you truly be sure that this even is whatever you called it?" she asked, in obvious disbelief.

"Fanfiction" he repeated softly.

"But, truly, what kind of proof-" She was interrupted by a soft finger below her chin, lifting her downward gaze to his gleaming sea-green eyes.

"You must trust me, I have lived many lives, some of which have come to an end at the hands of the one who wrote me, but none in which I could freely think. I need you, more than I have needed anyone. I need you to help me end this story, so you and I can be free." His eyes were deep and surprisingly kind beyond the strange half of a mask, but still, it was hard to believe him.

"How can I trust a man whose name I do not know?" she asked him, turning her head from the man's gentle but icy-cold touch.

"That's very true," he whispered. "My name is Erik." He left out the customary but it hasn't been used for ages, which was completely untrue.

"Have you no surname?"

"I have not. What may I call you?"

"My name is Melodie Peterson but I prefer being called Mel."

"Then, dear Mel," Erik lifted her hand to gently press it to his soft, tender lips, cool as ice, "it was certainly a pleasure meeting you tonight."

"I can only agree, Erik," she replied softly, blushing and looking down as he gently released her hand.

They said nothing for what seemed like forever, but the silence was far from awkward. There was simply nothing to be said.

Erik studied her, as she sat. She was tall for a girl her age - about 17 or 18, he guessed - with pale, soft skin dusted with faint, almost invisible freckles across the bridge of her nose. The eyes she'd dared to reveal to him were an intense blue-green and he couldn't help searching to get a glimpse of them again. Her russet, shoulder-length hair was straight, with just a hint of waves where it was piled over her shoulder. She was perfect, just as she was designed to be. Erik could imagine her voice, no doubt she sang like an angel.

An hour passed without a word. Sleep seemed to have taken hold of Mel when she wasn't paying attention, leading her deep into the darkness, alone and unguarded, even if only for what seemed a moment.

Noticing this at once, Erik knew he couldn't leave her here. He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he did. Gently, he slipped his arms beneath her body and tenderly lifted her close to him. She was so warm compared to his terrible, awful coldness.

Thankfully the streets of Paris were deserted at this late hour and so no one saw the tall, masked man carrying a young girl in his arms. He knew she lived at the Opéra Garnier; she lived in a Phantom of the Opera fanfiction after all. Even finding her room in the dormitories of the Opéra was not difficult; it seemed as if he already knew. Down the hall, third on the left, it was hard to miss anyway. Erik smiled, imagining the fuss the cleaning ladies must have put up about the things stuck to her door with bits of wax - weird little drawings and various opera posters, even one for the Bal Masqué, the forthcoming Masquerade ball. Tucked behind the posters and papers were dried roses and other flowers but what stood out most was a half-sheet of parchment with the words "Mel's Room" in the curliest script he'd ever seen.

After a moment of digging through her small reticule , he found the key and the door swung open.

For all the decoration and extravagance put into the door, the room was rather plain in comparison. A thick sketchpad sat squarely on her wooden desk, and a handful of pencils beside it looked about to roll away from the proud quill master in its high inkwell throne, observing the desktop kingdom from under its pompous plumage.

He gently laid Mel on the bed in the back of the room, tenderly tucking her in under the soft blanket.

She is so lovely, he thought as he gently pressed his lips to her forehead.

It felt very late when the Phantom returned to his candlelit lair. He tossed the thick cape in his hand over the back of a chair and, failing to notice that he had a visitor until the last second, was about to grab a composition from the top of the organ when he glimpsed the movement from the corner of his eye.

Lounging on one of the sofas was a feminine figure toying with a black silk ribbon tied in a bow around a very red rose.

"Hello, Erik."

A/N: Well, now that you've gotten through that whole monster of a chapter I'd like to welcome you to my newest project that has been in the works for well over a year I suppose. Originally a My Chemical Romance bandfic (a bannedfic) about the fanfics of the band, I decided to move on to Phantom. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I could love your reviews!

Also, special thanks to my kickass Beta Reader Goth Angel UK for her help, support and helping me fix my quote-ending punctuation fal!