Fandom: Phantom of the Opera & Beauty and the Beast
Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.
Summary: POTO take on Beauty and the Beast. So, it's technically not a crossover, just a different telling of the fairy tale, a phantom-ized fairy tale.
Warning(s): slash
Pairing(s): Erik/Raoul
Word Count: 4,058

A/N: New update schedule: every other week. I also can't seem to write more than a few thousand words in a chapter anymore. D:
Story note: This is apparently one of those slower moving fics.

o.o.o.o

La Belle et la Bete
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Chapter 02 – Prisoner's Accommodations

o.o.o.o

Under any other circumstance, the trip to Paris might have been pleasant. The weather was mild, the previous storm having done enough damage already to have moved on. Nary a cloud could be seen. Raoul may have shivered from the coolness of a morning that was still mostly night, but when the sun finally rose, he warmed by increments. Despite the sun though, a certain measure of cold persisted, refusing to fully release him from its grasp. His hands were near numb; they shook as he held the reins. His body was stiff, legs too tense and in less than half a day, he was sore from riding. He wondered if some illness had befallen him but quickly dismissed the idea. He was in good health, perhaps a little sick with grief and chilled from despair, but healthy.

To avoid thinking about the fate that awaited him in Paris, he preoccupied himself with thoughts of his family. He could imagine how worried they would be upon discovering his absence. His sisters would mourn his absence and Philippe would be devastated; he would think, rather erroneously, that Raoul's departure could have been prevented.

If Raoul could change one aspect about the necessity of his decision, it would not be to wish someone else to go in his stead; it would be to somehow erase the pain he was causing his family. The letter was meant to reassure them that he was doing what was best for them all. After all the years that they had doted and coddled him, he would finally be the one to protect them.

Still, he avoided all forms of civilization. Memories of his family were difficult enough, but the mere possibility of seeing a family together, of seeing someone that might remind him of his brother or sisters made him ache from his very core. It would be like having to leave them all over again, and he simply wasn't strong enough to do that more than once.

Even though he knew with absolute certainty that he was making the correct decision, the thought in itself provided little comfort. The only comfort he did have was the steady amble of his horse, Philippe. It was selfish, he knew, to take the last thing his family truly owned, but he'd had to be certain that his brother would not be able to catch him so quickly. It also helped to know that in some little way, he was not going to do this alone. After all, he only had to look upon the road, the destination that seemed as far as it was close, before he trembled in fear. At times, he would wish he was already facing his doom at the opera house, for surely the ghost wanted to consume him like all the others; then moments later, he would wish he was close enough to the inn that his brother would be able to catch up and convince him that they would be able to outrun a ghost.

There was no way to outrun a ghost. But there was a way to appease him.

So, Raoul pressed onward manically, finding it impossible to rest. If he stopped, he didn't know if he would be able to find the strength to continue this journey. As though understanding this, Philippe graciously acceded to his need to travel through the night, keeping up with the pace Raoul set. He took some pity on him and walked for much of the journey as night fell. It gave him a chance to work out the knots in his muscles and tension in his limbs.

They paused only a few times when it was necessary and in those moments of stillness while Philippe drank water or ate, Raoul would be pacing, or stroking Philippe's mane, whispering words of encouragement and apology. Sympathetic to his internal struggle, Philippe would snort and nudge him fondly with his muzzle, and Raoul liked to believe he was being forgiven for pushing them so hard.

They reached Paris in what was certain to be record time, and despite the early hour, Raoul easily found someone to direct him to the opera house. The directions had been given along with a heavy warning against going. When Raoul insisted he had no other choice but to go, the stranger paused and looked at him oddly. He wondered what a sight he must present: dirty from travel and barely functioning on a mixture of anxiety and determination. The man's scrutiny must have come to the only reasonable answer, crazy in appearance and action, for he had left quickly.

Raoul himself didn't bother to dally either. He tried to mentally prepare himself for this meeting, had been trying the entire journey. The only thing he could think to do was take in everything his senses perceived, trying to find beauty in the architecture, in the songbirds' melodies, in the evidence of a new day. He let it all wash over him certain in his belief that this was the last morning he would ever see. It was the only thing left to do.

He immediately knew he was heading in the right direction when he rode into a sort of darkness that had nothing to do with the early morning. It hung about the shops and grew ever deeper towards what had to be the opera house. From a distance, no definite form of the building was truly visible through the shadows, making it seem more formidable as it loomed over him on his approach.

The streets were abandoned. The silence that encompassed the area seemed to come from the building itself, such an incongruous malady with a structure that should resonate with the many operas that had been performed within its walls. Yet, it was a stillness that was able to communicate rather clearly: Beware. Danger ahead.

Raoul was encouraged by the fact that Philippe did not seem extremely agitated. In fact, his horse sedately made his way towards the main entrance, seemingly familiar with the way, which Raoul realized he was. Patting him on his neck, Raoul whispered another apology for taking him back here.

The building looked menacing up close. Despite the fact that he could see no broken window or cracked statue, he could not help but feel this place looked dilapidated. There was not even any indication of edges worn down by the elements, as though it had been frozen in time while the world moved on around it. The only characteristic that even hinted at the long years the building had been in disuse was the fact it was overrun with greenery.

Philippe neighed loudly and Raoul realized that they had long since stopped moving. Taking in an unsteady breath, he dismounted and tied the reins loosely at the entrance.

"Thank you." Raoul stroked Philippe's head. "Maybe," he grinned weakly, "maybe the ghost will let me go and we can return home." After a moment, he impulsively pressed his lips to the bridge of Philippe's nose. "Good-bye." He turned and quickly strode to the door, refusing to look behind him. His hand was poised in the air to knock when the door swung open silently. With thoughts of his family's safety, he entered.

Several steps into the building, he stopped and standing stock-still with his eyes squeezed shut, he braced himself for pain. Surely, the ghost had heard him approaching and this was to be the end of not only his journey but his life. But, nothing happened. He opened his eyes hesitantly and saw that he was completely alone. It was actually brighter inside the building than it had been outside, though not by much. Too many shadows lingered at the edges of the room and though he was uneasy, Raoul couldn't help but be taken aback by the grandeur of the foyer.

His eyes widened and he gasped. The sound echoed softly in the cavernous room. Pillars climbed to the ceiling up past a second floor. Not even thinking about it, he walked further into the opera house, craning his neck to look up. Even his footsteps echoed. After having been forced to share a room for so long, Raoul had nearly forgotten what it felt like to take up so little space in a room, to feel so small. There was little he could see of the ornamentation but as he approached one of the alcoves the hall separated into, he nearly screamed in fright when a demon-like creature peered at him through the darkness. Once he realized that the creature was not moving and was certain the statue was indeed just that, he allowed himself to wonder if those who had furnished the building had somehow known that it would be the perfect denizen to this particular opera house.

From the recesses of his mind, he could faintly recall having once been to an opera. It hadn't been performed here, but it was not a hardship to imagine what this building must have looked like before it had fallen to disuse. Dust covered almost every meter of the place; even the sun had difficulty shining through the large expanse of windows. But as Raoul's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out how the gold trimmings in the decoration though dim, defiantly added color and reflected the meager candlelight.

Raoul smiled faintly, imagining the numerous individuals who must have walked through this very hall, shoulders bumping against each other from the sheer number of them, the sound of their combined voices filling up the room with life and laughter. Oh, how they must have been just as stunned as he was with such opulence. Having experienced so much, they would have been able to better appreciate the workmanship and intricate details that it was too dark to see or Raoul now, certainly too uncivilized to be able to notice.

Briefly forgetting about his fears, he took simple pleasure in imagining what must have been, not realizing that he was being watched the entire time. From the shadows in the room, the occupants of the opera house all looked at him hopefully. This may be their chance of freedom, freedom from the curse and from the tyranny of the ghost whose success they now so depended upon.

One more watched him, but not within the room. From deep below the opera house, a wretched form of limbs and vapors hunched over a small magical mirror watching the youth's timid movements and open admiration of what he saw. It wasn't difficult to see he was frightened, and the creature wondered who this boy was that he managed to forget anxiety in favour of surveying the room, that he could bear to smile so contentedly in the face of such danger.

That would have to be discovered in time. It pleased him that the man had kept his word not only in sending his brother, but in the description he'd given. Loving? The creature had long since given up hope for the curse to be broken, but the boy was certainly lovely. The mirror faded to darkness when a tendril of what had once been a finger reached to touch the surface of the mirror and caress the boy's image.

Perhaps there was reason to hope once more.

Raoul shivered and turned about quickly, certain that he had heard someone whispering. He turned again before approaching the staircase; the sound had come from that direction. Whenever he tried to concentrate though, he could near nothing but his own ragged breathing.

Swallowing with some difficulty, he summoned the courage to call out.

"Hello?"

Only his voice echoed a responding 'hello' as though to punctuate the fact that he was indeed alone. Barring ghosts. He took an involuntary step towards the door. It was then that he heard footsteps approaching him. He turned his head to follow the sound. Whoever it was was in no apparent rush to reach him, and Raoul had to wait long moments tensely staring into the shadows. Shoes were the first thing Raoul saw, and when the rest came into view, he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet before landing on his rear.

Just as Philippe had described, a suit walked towards him from across the hall. In his haste, Raoul didn't have the presence of mind to stand up. Instead, he stared at the steward, scrambling backwards on the floor. He backed up directly into the bottom step of the grand staircase and stopped. It looked as though someone were indeed wearing it, but there was no head, were no hands, and he was certain no feet even though there were shoes.

A yell threatened to come loose from his throat as it stopped directly in front of him. An arm reached out towards him and he flinched backwards, raising his arms in front of him. When he felt nothing happen, he peered through the space between his forearms to see the sleeve of the jacket had stopped quite a distance away. His heart racing, he felt almost lightheaded. The arm bent at the elbow and Raoul realized it was motioning him to follow.

It waited there patiently while Raoul tried to calm himself. He told himself he shouldn't be so frightened at every single thing that appeared, especially when he had expected this to occur. Even his imaginings of the invisible steward had been rather indistinct though. He glanced towards the door, wondering if he could make it if he ran before quickly chiding himself. His brother hadn't been so frightened. At the thought of his family, Raoul clenched his hands into fists and pushed himself up onto still unsteady legs.

He would not run. He had come here of his own accord and he would not shirk the duty he had taken on for his family. Nodding dumbly, Raoul waited for the steward to lead the way.

They walked through numerous hallways that all looked the same. Only a few candles were ever lit, the overall effect similar to a perpetual dusk. Reddish hues tinged everything, from wall to carpet; the darkness acted as the palette upon which red became carmine became the deep violet of night. The shadows danced, flickering candles intimate partners already well-versed in the intricate twist, bend, and twirl of the choreography.

There was not much to view besides the candelabra and the blank hallways; so, Raoul found his gaze drawn back to the steward. He couldn't suppress the fear he felt at having visible proof that such a creature could exist. Was it some magic that kept the clothes afloat or was there an actual being he simply could not perceive? Whichever it was, he only knew that the longer he looked, the less frightening it became. Perhaps if given the opportunity, he could look upon them with no fear at all.

The steward stopped in front of a door, which opened without him even moving his arm. Raoul took a deep breath; his knees felt as though they would buckle. This was it. He would finally meet the ghost. The steward remained outside, and Raoul realized that he wasn't going to enter at all. Suddenly, he had the absurd wish that the steward would not leave him.

He hesitated only a bit longer before walking in. He paused once inside, again confused. It was an empty bedroom. He glanced at the steward, expecting some sort of explanation. How, when the creature had no mouth to speak from, Raoul was uncertain, but he stared expectantly nonetheless. It was exhausting expecting the worse, bracing himself, and having nothing occur. The steward pointed at him before indicating the room.

It took a while, but Raoul realized what he was trying to say. "Oh" was the only response he could think to say. This was to be his bedroom. He didn't quite know what to make of that; perhaps the ghost was trying to make him believe he was safe before striking or, and Raoul was beginning to hope this may be true, his assumptions on what would occur here were incorrect. Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, he turned his attention back at the steward. Looking at where the man's head should have been, Raoul straightened and said, "Thank you."

The steward bowed slightly before leaving; the door closed as he left, shutting with a finality that seemed to drain whatever was left of Raoul's resolve and energy. Before his legs could finally give way beneath him, Raoul threw himself upon the bed, clutching the blanket to his chest. The tears came unbidden but expected. He was surprised that he had managed the entire trip without breaking down. Here in what was to be his prison for however short or long a period he would have left to live, Raoul let grief wrack his body in the form of sobs and pitiful hiccups.

o.o.o

Raoul awoke late into the evening not remembering when he'd fallen asleep in the first place. He looked across the room, expecting to see the bed his sisters shared before remembering where he was. There was no way he could stop the ache that bloomed in his chest, but he endeavored to push it aside. Their absence was quite pronounced in a room that was suddenly too big though.

He chided himself once again for his weakness. He simply didn't believe he was strong enough not to hurt at the mere thought of them. Still, each day he lived here was a day that they were safe from the ghost. So, he looked for something to distract him, anything.

A perusal of the room served him well enough. It was a little smaller than the room at the inn; however the bed was bigger than the one he'd shared with his brother. Against one wall there was a full length mirror. An armoire was nestled in the corner and beside it, a boudoir. He found it odd to have a single room when he remembered Philippe talking about dormitories. He guessed the room was probably reserved for someone important like a prima donna or perhaps the instructors.

Unlike the rest of the opera house, this room was clean. There was no dust on the furniture and no cobwebs in the corners of the room. He couldn't remember if it had been like that when he'd first entered. Nevertheless, the meaning of it unsettled him despite supporting his earlier thought. He was expected to stay for some duration. He wasn't quite certain whether to be pleased that the ghost would not consume him so quickly or to fear what that interim entailed.

On a side table, a new set of clothing awaited him. Cautiously, he picked up the trousers and marveled at the material. It made him painfully aware of how much his own clothes had gone into disrepair, threadbare and ill-fitting since he was still growing. He'd even put on his nicest suit to come here; one that had been part of his old life. He hadn't brought anything else with him, not having expected on being able to use them.

His first impulse was to refuse the clothing but thought against it. There was no way to know how long he would be a prisoner and if Philippe's story was true, then Raoul might actually be expected to stay here forever. He would eventually have to wear new clothes once he grew out of his current ones and just generally accept the kindness of the ghost; that particular thought was incongruous of the image he'd developed en route to the opera house. Kindness and the ghost? It fanned the little flicker of hope that had sparked within him. He tried not to expect too much though.

The first thing he noticed when he donned the new clothing was the fact that they fit as though they'd been tailor made for him. He scanned the room, fearful of the idea of someone actually having taken his measurements while he'd been asleep. He was alone, but he still shuddered at the mere thought.

He stood before the mirror, twisting and turning just to see how he looked. He couldn't remember if his own clothes had ever fit this well. Grinning, he remembered a time when he had watched Philippe dressed in such finery – for some reason, Raoul never thought he was ever able to wear it as elegantly as his brother. It felt like lifetimes ago, but he knew it couldn't have been more than a year. He could still easily conjure up images of his sisters in their gowns and the delicate way they seemed to float as they walked. He smiled sadly, smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles on his new clothes.

Even with the decision made to accept the generosity given to him, Raoul took great care to fold his old clothes and place them reverently into a drawer. He wanted to keep it safe; it was the last remnant of his past life – besides Philippe. A rush of panic filled him as he wondered what had happened to his horse. Now that he was still alive, he hoped that Philippe hadn't run off just yet. He'd made certain not to tie the reins too tightly so that if anything happened, he would be able to run away.

Leaving the room in haste, he only hesitated a moment before deciding he'd come from the left. He ran, guessing at which corners to turn and which to continue straight. When he finally stopped, he was out of breath and completely lost, but wherever he'd arrived, he had gotten there quite quickly.

Raoul turned about in confusion, hoping to spot something that struck him as familiar. The problem was that everything was familiar, from the hallways themselves to the number of candles lit. Everything looked the same.

He was at a loss for what to do next when a trickle of music reached him. Tilting his head towards the sound, he smiled hopefully. Music meant that there was someone else in this building. Maybe the building wasn't as empty as he'd first believed.

Following the sound led him to a set of double doors. Opening them a barest of cracks, the music and singing forcefully streamed out. He walked into a large auditorium, midway through the empty theatre. Eagerly, he turned towards the stage expecting to see others and could only stare, mouth ajar.

There were indeed performers on stage. Dancers twirled about and singers in elaborate costumes moved to the fore of the stage, jewelry dangling from wrists making exaggerated gestures towards the ceiling and one in particular was holding – Raoul squinted to see – a decapitated head. He grimaced and if it weren't so obvious that the head was false, Raoul would have been worried.

It was a spectacular performance, a parade of such richness of color and action that Raoul was rooted to his spot, struggling to take it all in. And, while he could hear the orchestra, hear the singers, even hear the rustling of the costumes in the relative dead silence of the auditorium, not a single body filling those clothes could be seen. He was even able to catch a glimpse of the outfit of a stage hand, as it somehow, without having visible limbs, managed to tug a curtain into place.

He tore his gaze away, and as disturbing as the sight was, Raoul was simply relieved to note once again that they performed to no audience. He didn't know how well he would have reacted to an entire theatre full of invisible patrons.

Despite his desire to continue his search for Philippe and to leave before he somehow disturbed the performance, he found his eyes drawn to the stage. It truly was mesmerizing: the way the colorful clothing pirouetted and leapt across the stage, how the settings changed and props moved, and it took a moment but Raoul realized that he could easily follow who was singing. It was magnificent. He was almost certain their voices would be able to reach the heavens; he could almost soar along with it. The music thrummed through him and his heart had already changed its rhythm simply to match the music.

"It is the Saturday evening performance." A rasping voice startled him.

o.o.o

o.o.o.o

End chapter 02

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter Review: Third person with mostly (not completely) a Raoul POV; so, many of those sentences that seem opinionated are colored by Raoul's own perceptions. I thought I might just mention that since Raoul doesn't have that great of an opinion of himself and too high an opinion of imagined people. Oh, and apparently, I think Raoul's pretty young in this one. Mid to late teens?

Is Raoul wrong in his belief that the ghost will consume him? Just to whom are the people performing? And has the ghost finally revealed himself?