A quick note: I portray all the characters of phantom, as they are in the 2004 musical. Emmy Rossum as Christine, Gerard Butler as Erik, Patrick Wilson as Raoul, ect.

I hope you enjoy this next chapter of 'The Wicked'!

{Rose Diamund}

The Wicked

2. The Meeting

It was Meg Giry who saw him approaching first. A tall, muscled man with long, curly light brown hair down to his shoulders and light eyes. Soon enough, all eyes fell upon him.

Christine's lips parted and a stunned look washed over her face. Could it be? Yes. "It's Raoul."

Meg looked confused, "Who?"

"I suppose you could say we were childhood sweethearts." Christine replied, her eyes smiling upon thinking of all those sweet memories.

Meg smiled, "Oh Christine, he is so handsome."

Christine watched him speaking, though she was not listening. She was thinking- just of what Meg had said. He's so handsome. He turned around and walked towards Christine's direction. Her heart stopped for a moment. But then, to her utter dejection, he walked right past her, without so much as a glance. Her face fell, "He wouldn't recognize me."

"He didn't see you." Meg persisted.

"Girls!" Madame Giry, Meg's mother, hissed, "You're onstage now!"

Christine and Meg ran out, dancing with the rest of the chorus girls. It was then Christine two men standing over by Madame Giry. One had wild white hair, and the other thick, dark hair. They were middle-aged, and looked completely bewildered. Christine suddenly got back into the danced after forgetting herself for a moment. Soon, she had forgotten everything else accept the music swaying her movements. She glided across the floor, the other dancers at her heels. When the song had finished, Christine let out an uneven, ragged breath.

Meg tapped her on the shoulder, grinning, "You were wonderful."

Christine beamed, "As were you." Christine didn't know why she was always told how 'wonderful' of a dancer she was. She was always told that music spoke to her in a way it didn't to anyone else. And in a way, she knew it was true. It was a passion of hers. And she could easily dance circles around those inadequate dancers. But whenever Christine danced, she felt... hollow. As if there were nothing in her but a plethora of swift and sensual movements for entertainment. As if she hadn't anything else to offer.

From the other side of the stage, Carlotta, the Prima Donna of the opera with an atrociously out-of-key operatic Italian voice, was complaining to the two men, screaming with a shrill vigor. Christine only got bits of the argument- mostly Carlotta's- but she heard, "Now I am really leaving! Bye-bye!" Carlotta shouted obnoxiously.

Christine had been secretly hoping Carlotta would leave for months now. Carlotta was not anywhere near talented, and she made a fuss over everything. Christine felt a twinge of guilt for even thinking such a cruel thought.

"Goddess of song!" One of the men chortled at Carlotta.

Goddess of song? Christine sighed.

Meg sneered and cupped her hand over Christine's ear, "Do you think they heard her sing yet?"

Christine smiled and whispered, "When they do they'll have a surprise, won't they?"

Meg rolled her eyes, "I never understood why everybody was so committed to making sure she'd stay at the opera. With her lack of talent it would not be so prudent to keep her here."

Christine merely nodded in agreement, but when she looked up from Meg she soon saw everybody's gaze had fixed on her. Madame Giry stepped up and took Christine's hand, leading her towards the center of the stage, "Christine Daae could sing it, sir."

Christine looked from Madame Giry to the men and back, "S-sing what?"

"What a chorus girl, the star of an opera? Don't be ridiculous." The white, wild haired man said doubtfully.

Madame Giry's eye never wavered from Christine, a gleam in her eyes read: I know your secret. "She has been well taught, Monsieur Andre."

Andre looked to Christine, "By who?"

Christine felt Madame Giry's penetrating gaze on her, but she dissembled not to notice, "I... I do not know his name, Monsieur."

"Just let her sing for you." Madame Giry insisted. "She will not disappoint."

The other, taller man nodded, "I suppose. Come along, Mademoiselle Daae, then. No need to be shy."

Christine stepped forward to the center, she felt her knees grow weak as she heard whispers grow behind her, and then, utter silence. She felt all eyes on her, as if she were suffocating. But then, the familiar music began to play from the orchestra pit, and Christine felt herself become more and more confident. A moment later, her tender voice rang out strong and clear.

"Think of me... think of me fondly when we've said goodbye...

Remember me... once in a while, please promise me you'll try...

When you find... that once again you long... to take your heart back and be free...

If you ever find a moment... spare a thought for me..."


Deep, deep below the stage, a man stood, his eyes closed, his lips parted just so as he listened to the melody and the voice of one girl. This man was deep in the catacombs of the opera for one reason alone. And it was for the same reason that he was Christine Daae's angel of music, and yet could not step out of the shadows for her to see. And again, it was the same reason he was what was known as- The Phantom of the Opera.

A clean, white half-mask covered the left half of his face. He now stood below the stage, rejoicing silently as he listened to his student-his love- Christine Daae.

"We never said... our love was evergreen...

Or as unchanging as the sea... but if you can still remember

Stop and think of me..."

Her angelic voice leaked through the floorboards, making him close his eyes with bliss and desire.

"Think of me... Think of me waking

Silent and resigned... imagine me...

Trying too hard to

Put you from my mind...

Recall those days... think back on all those times... think of those things we'll never do...

There will never be a day... when I won't think of you..."


From his place in box seven, Vicomte Raoul DeChagney watched the stage in awe. This beautiful girl, with the curly brown hair and heavenly brown eyes with such a voice! Wait- could that be-?

"Christine." Raoul muttered under his breath, a smile spreading rapidly across his face. He decided right at that moment, he would pay a visit to Miss Daae right after the performance.

"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade

They have their seasons to do we

But please promise me that sometimes you...will... think...

Of me!"


Christine entered her dressing room with Madame Giry, grinning.

Madame Giry turned to her. "You were lovely tonight, Christine."

Christine smiled, "Thank you."

Madame Giry held out at arms-length a red rose, with a black ribbon tied in a bow around it, "He is proud of you, my dear."

"Madame?"

"Yes?"

Christine swallowed, "H-how do you know? About... my angel?"

Madame Giry did not speak for a moment, she hesitated, "He appears only to those he believes are worthy of it. You should consider it a great honor, his teaching you."

"But who is he? Have you ever seen him?"

Madame Giry's eyes flickered across the room, averting from Christine's, "I must go now. Meg is waiting for me." She left the room promptly.

Christine sat at her vanity, turning the rose in her hand. It was beautiful and fully bloomed. A deep, gorgeous red. The door swung open that moment, and a tall, handsome figure stepped in. He grinned, "Little Lotte."

Christine turned abruptly, her face lit up, "Raoul!"

"It has been so many years." Raoul agreed. "The last thing I remember doing with you is singing. 'The angel of music sings songs in my head'."

"The angel of music sings songs in my head..." Christine sung quietly. Her eyes lifted, "Raoul... when my father lay dying. He told me, 'When I am in heaven, child, I will send to you the angel of music'. Well father is dead, Raoul, and I have been visited by the angel of music."

"Oh, no doubt of it." Raoul said. "And now... we'll go to supper."

"Raoul I can't. The angel of music is very strict." Christine insisted.

Raoul laughed, "Well I shan't keep you out late. Two minutes, Little Lotte." He walked towards the door.

"No, Raoul wait-"

The door slammed behind him.

Christine sat back down, feeling ill. She decided to change out of her costume.

A moment later, she came out dressed in her nightdress. When she felt a frigid draft breezing in, and it blew out all the candles. In a moment of alarm, Christine ran towards the door, but it was locked.

"Insolent boy... this slave of fashion... basking in your glory.."

It was her angel's voice, harsh and menacing.

"Ignorant fool this brave young suitor... sharing in my triumph..."

Christine swallowed, fear swelling inside of her. But this was her angel, one she could always revert to in a moment of need.

She sang, slowly and softly in return:

"Angel I hear you speak, I listen... stay by my side... guide me..

Angel my soul was weak... forgive me... enter at last master..."

His voice softened, it grew kinder:

"Flattering child you shall know me... see why in shadow I hide...

Look at your face in the mirror... I am there... inside!"

Mist gathered throughout the room, entrancing Christine as she saw a man appearing in the mirror. He was tall and broad chested, with jet-black hair and a white half-mask on one side of his face.

"Angel of music! Guide and guardian! Grant to me your glory...!

Angel of music, hide no longer! Secret and strange... angel..."

Christine walked towards the mirror hazily, as if in a dream.

His voice was hypnotizing:

"I am your angel of music... come to me angel of music..."

From the other side of the door, Christine heard Raoul banging on the door, "Christine!"

She paid no heed, her angel put out his gloved hand, offering it to her. Hesitantly, she took it. Her hand turned warm to his touch, sending a tingle through her body and she stared at him with fascination. He led her down, down, down until at last they two reached a lake. She stepped into a small boat, and he rowed her across a vast, deep lake.

Soon, they came to a gate. Like magic, the gate began to rise. Exposing a beautiful lair. It was covered in mist and candles, and damp stonewalls. A piano sat on a stone platform just off the side of the lake.

Her angel stepped out of the boat, and walked up to the piano, but never took his eyes off her. His eyes were a mesmerizing green, and he began to sing slowly and gently. His voice truly and pure, one that of an angel:

"Nighttime sharpens... heightens each sensation... darkness stirs...

And wakes imagination... silently the senses... abandon their defenses..."

He offered Christine his hand, helping her out of the boat. But he kept his grasp on her hand, leading her up small, stone steps.

"Slowly... gently... night unfurls it's splendor... hear it... feel it..

Tremulous and tender... turn your face away... from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light...

And listen to the music of the night...

Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams.. purge your thoughts of the life you new before...

Close your eyes, let your spirit start... to soar... And you'll live... as you've never lived... before..."

His fingers brushed her cheek tenderly, and she closed her eyes, feeling his warm touch on her skin. He turned her so her back was pressing against his chest, the two bodies locked in a perfect sensation.

"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you ...
Feel it, hear it, secretly possess you ...
Open up your mind...let your fantasies unwind... in this darkness which you know you cannot fight - the darkness of the music of the night..."

His hand moved sensually right below her breast, moving towards, caressing her. Down to her thigh... she let out a small sigh, feeling the warm of his body against hers.

He took her hand in his and gently turn her so they were inches apart, facing one another. Christine eyes fluttered open.

"Let your mind start a journey... through a strange new world!
Leave all thoughts... of the world you knew before!
Let your soul take you where you... long to be!
Only then can you belong to me ..."

Christine watched him with utter fascination. The two had pulled apart, leaving her with the pleasurable sting of his warmth.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication!
Touch me, trust me savor each sensation!
Let the dream begin... let your darker side give in
to the power of the music that I write - the power of the music of the night ..."

His voice softened to the point of barely a whisper, and he gazed into Christine eyes with a sort of undetectable expression on his face.

"You alone can make my song take flight - help me make the music of the night . . ."

A gaze clung between the two, and a ring of silence followed.

Christine's lips parted, as she searched for the right words to say. "I..." Was all she could muster. "That... that was beautiful..." she purred softly.

The man's lips curved upward in a sort of half-smile, his eyes gleamed triumphantly, "You were beautiful tonight, Christine."

"Because you have assisted me," Christine replied modestly.

"I... have admired you for so long now. And I wanted to finally see you... face to face." The man offered kindly.

Christine looked up at him, "Please, what is your name?"

The man looked hesitant to give her a name, but he looked up, "Erik. Erik Destler."

Christine whispered it, "Erik."