Chapter 1: A Glorious Word

"Nooooooooo!" C.C. cried, startling her two siamese cats as she pelted the TV with a fistful of extra butter popcorn. If she took any notice of Spike and Ayesha streaking out of the room she didn't show it as she continued to stream insults at the television.

"No...Don't do it...Keep the damn doll COVERED! And while we're at it, why did you go and KIDNAP her in the first place? You're such an idiot! A hot idiot, but...Uhhh!"

C.C. had grown up with The Phantom of the Opera. Her mom had always been a devoted phan girl and made sure to pass on her obsess... er, passion to her only daughter. Some of C.C.'s oldest memories included Michael Crawford's voice and Lon Chaney's emphatic gesturing. She absolutely loved anything Phantom, but through the years she had never ceased to be annoyed and disgusted by Erik's train wreck attempts to woo Christine. It was an opinion she never failed to vocalize every time she was alone in the house with her cats and her 2-disk Special Edition of Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera.

"Oh. My. Hugh! What are you doing? Where the hell did you learn your moves? The Psycho Stalker's Guide to Courting Chicks? I swear if I was there right now I'd..."

C.C. stopped suddenly as an idea struck her. (And rather painfully she might add.) As she went to throw another fistful of popcorn her hand hit the desk, this sent her composition notebook hurtling towards her head with deadly accuracy. Having been suddenly bashed over the head with inspiration, C.C. leapt to her feet and sprinted towards her bedroom as a single, glorious word entered her mind. Flinging herself at her desk, C.C. jabbed the power button on her laptop with all the force of a rampaging elephant with PMS.

There was a way to fix everything. A way to change Erik and Christine's relationship from one of those I-Know-A-Twisted-Terrible-Wreck-Is-Coming-But-I-Can't-Help-But-Watch-With-Sick-Fascination kind of disasters. All would be made well with the use of one glorious word:

Phanphiction.

Donning a mental oh-so-sexy phantom-like cape and fedora, C.C. took over her virtual world and became Silent Phantasy: The Authoress!

Softly she chuckled to herself. "Erik will never know what hit him."

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Having been transported to the wonderful world of phanphiction, C.C. found herself in the most boring place known to authors and authoresses. It was a place so boring that it could only be described with the help of Weird Al: So boring "I'd rather rip my heart out with my bare hands, throw in on the floor, and stomp on till I die, (eh!) than spend one more minute..." here: The Planning Stage.

She was standing in a long, narrow hallway. (Actually it was rather quite short, but for dramatic effect please continue to picture the creepy endless hallway that has formed in all of your minds' eyes.)On either side of the hallway was a series of doors with dates carved deeply into the wood. The first read 1911, then continued 1925, 1943, and continued on to 2005, there were twelve total. C.C. had come to the decision all good phans had to make. She had to choose which version of PotO she wanted to use.

Within seconds she had employed her AAA, (Awesome Authoress Authority,) and was left with only three doors reading 1911, 1991, and 2005. There were the staples of most good phanphic writers: Leroux, Kay, and (drool,) Gerik. Now the hard decisions had to be made.

C.C. knew that Kay's version was the logical choice for elimination because the entirety of the Erik/Christine interaction had been rushed and kind of weak, but who could say no to a vicious and criminally insane ball of brown and cream fuzz? Cautiously C.C. approached the door marked 1991. Gripping the handle she opened the door just enough to let Ayesha stream through and then slammed it shut before the floating bottle of morphine and the box marked IMPENDING HEART ATTACK: DO NOT OPEN! could escape and work their way into her phic.

Panting slightly, C.C. reveled in her conquest over the sneaky world of fiction, but her triumph was short lived. When she reached out to give Ayesha a victory petting the siamese gave C.C. a full clawed whap and a look that promised that the next time the authoress that maneuver all she'd pull back would be a bloody stump.

"Stupid cat!" C.C. pouted, nursing her injured hand. "This is my phic! I am The Authoress! I am the deity to whom you bow, who's every whim you obey!"

Ayesha stared at the panting, (and possibly insane,) authoress, winked her eye, and began to nonchalantly clean her tail. C.C. threw her hands up in defeat. After all, Ayesha was a cat and therefore had to uphold the secret feline pledge to be as frustrating and annoying as physically possible. Her own cats were no different, Spike had this freakishly disconcerting habit of opening the bathroom door, sitting at the person's feet, and just starring at them without blinking. And C.C. would never forget how her Ayesha had "helped" her file her first income taxes by tracking mud all over the forms and chasing ALL the pens under the dresser.

Giving up on the cat at her feet, C.C. turned her attention back to the doors. Her eyes went thoughtfully from one door to the next. Many a good phic idea had been completely bombed by a poor choice of versions. There was only one thing left to do. She would have to go on a rambled and confusing monologue that she would disregard all the points of when she was done and make a hasty choice anyway. Taking a deep breath she started.

"The logical choice is definitely the Leroux version because it's still well known but not over used to oblivion so I won't be writing the exact same phic fifty million other phangirls with a crush on Gerry Butler have written a million times over because thanks to that screaming horde of obsessive phans absolutely anything and I mean anything I'd want to do in a Gerik phic is now horribly cliché like I can't use any song lyrics whether they were in the musical or not without getting eye rolls and I can't make fun of the fops hair or lack of personality and/or intelligence without it being done before to the point of absurdity and there's the fact that the layout for the lair's all bollocksed up I mean what the heck is the torture chamber doing underneath the lobby?"

Stopping only momentarily for air she continued. "And besides, Leroux Erik would be more of a challenge. I mean, Gerik is so incredibly sexy that Christine was already hot, bothered, and practically drooling. Especially when he wears those..."

C.C.'s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. (Over used simile, but bear with it, it's 3am.) "Oh My Hugh! Don Juan Pants!"

With her final words the authoress threw herself at the door marked 2005, images of tightly fitting brown trousers danced in her head. (Don Juan Pants were much better than sugar plums if you asked her.) All her arguments for Leroux!Erik were silenced as her mental voice found it much more appealing to start singing Past the Point of No Return instead.

A/N: And "Oh My Hugh!" is a reference to a certain oh-so-sexy Broadway actor that many stage phans will recognize. As far as I'm concerned this particular ex (sob) phantom is a god and should therefore be sworn by.