Have you missed me, good readers? Did you think that I would not update this at all? Well to be honest, I got sidetracked with all my other stories, plus college rolled along again and that threw everything off even more. So here I am finally! Hopefully updates will be a little more common now than before.

On another plus side, one of my favorite T.V shows, Once Upon A Time started up again tonight and it's a crossover writer's dream come true. Frozen is now on this show! *Fan squeal that would never be heard out loud* Love it!

Anyway, to the story!


Rejected titles: Building Up


Edit: 1/19/16


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Paris: August 1875

The Phantom awoke for the first time in a long time feeling not quite akin to absolute garbage. He slowly sat himself up in his bed, which he had found after his meal and looked around. The candles were all but burnt down, the wicks just flickering glows barely above the melted wax. It was dark, but that didn't matter to the Phantom. His hangover was almost gone and he could think much clearer now, and he felt refreshed from his sleep. However he knew that he had had a nightmare, or a memory would be more accurate, that night as his body was covered in damp sweat and his skin was clammy. It was as if his treacherous body decided to have a nightmare without him knowing about it. But he had slept through it, which was a good thing since he didn't remember what it was about.

He worked himself off the bed. While he felt rested, his body was still weak from months of malnourishment, muscle atrophy, and alcohol consumption. However, the last few months for the Phantom were a blur, which he supposed he was grateful for because he didn't remember any specifics of days or even weeks.

Time is a funny thing underground. Days and weeks could pass without you noticing, or they could stretch on forever unless you bother to keep track somehow. Without the natural light of the sun to track time with, one could loose all sense of it, only with the natural sleep cycle of your body as some sort of pace keeper. And if your body got messed up somehow, such as if you haven't eaten in a day, or haven't slept regular hours, then it'll throw off everything.

The thing was is that the Phantom didn't mind all that much. Having spent all his life living in a cage or down in caves it made little difference how much time had passed. Nor did he care.

Time makes me forget, he thought as he sat at his organ after eating a little bit of the bread. He planned to ration out the food a bit so it would last until he got his strength back to start getting food from the storage in the opera house. He didn't want to rely on any more charity, or pity, especially from Madame Giry.

It makes me forget the pain of the past. I don't want to feel it anymore. It hurts too much to remember. Block it out and don't feel. That's the only way to survive in this world. Harden your heart to the woes of the Earth. He glanced down at the organ he was sitting at. It was covered in a not so fine layer of dust, evidence of him not touching it for years.

When She left, he waited for the ruckus to die down a bit before returning to his lair. Nothing had been disturbed since, as it seemed that the people were still too scared of the Opera Ghost to risk angering him by damaging his things. The Phantom had cleaned up the glass from the mirrors he smashed and made sure everything was still where it was. And now all of that was covered in dust.

After he came back, he attempted to lose himself in his music again. But as soon as he played the first line of a piece, he broke down, imagining her voice singing along with his playing. Imagining her. After then, he couldn't play any of his instruments. Organ, violin, flute, none of them could heal his heart. In fact it made it worse. And singing was the worst because it reminded him of what could have been. It was so bad that he became sick two weeks after the fire. For a week he was fighting a fever and shivers. All the while he couldn't sleep because he kept seeing her face and hearing her voice in his mind. He recovered, but most of his strength had been lost since the sickness and hadn't been regained since.

So now he sat in the same organ seat that he last sat at four years ago. Dust had not spared the once magnificent instrument and now made it look a dull grey with hints of gold underneath. There was a fine layer of grime as well, giving the ivory keys a sickly green look.

The Phantom sat blankly staring at the organ, his mind delving down into the past. Unbidden, memories of him singing to her when he first brought her down here came to his forethoughts.

~"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses…"~

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, his brow furrowed. Indeed it did. When confronted with her dress and mannequin, she fainted and I needed to carry her to bed. Oh, I do not doubt that both our imaginations were awakened that night. For me, it was a chance to finally live outside of this hell that has been my life. But for her, it was too much. The dream became the nightmare. She couldn't handle it.

~"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me-"~

"No." Just one word destroyed the image. But another one rose to take its place.

~"Damn you! You little prying Pandora! You little demon, is this what you wanted to see?"~

Everything that I had worked for, destroyed in one reckless moment, one impulse she had. And just like that, it was destroyed. She saw my face, and she could never see me the same way again. Never.

~"Raoul I've seen him; can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape from that face so distorted, deformed it was hardly a face in that darkness. Darkness…"~

Even then she wanted to escape from me. And I kept chasing her, unknowingly driving her away, even while she stood in front of me.

~"The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn. We've past the point of no return…"~

No, don't think. Don't think. Don't remember anymore. Forget. Spare me the pain.

The Phantom bowed his head and looked at the keys in front of him. He stared at them for longer than he cared to count before he shifted. Slowly he raised a hand and held it above the Bb key. Do I dare try to play again? Do I dare try and resurrect the ghosts?

Slowly his finger descended and hit the key. An ungodly sound tore through the chamber and forced the Phantom to lift his finger off hastily. He winced as the sound faded away, hoping nobody heard it for two reasons. I hope no one heard that. I don't want anybody snooping around here. Plus that sound was just horrendous. Completely out of tune. He stood up and went around to the side of the organ, and then to the other, examining it for the first time in years.

After all these years of non-use I expected it to work just like before. I am a fool loosing his touch. I should have been maintaining my instruments like a musician. He looked around his home as if seeing it for the first time.

What is this place? Is this really what has become of my abode? Dust, and forgotten memories? Well, the memories can go to hell for all I care, but everything else? He trailed off as he surveyed everything. There were still pieces of glass on the floor that he missed the first time, and several of the candelabras were knocked over haphazardly. Sheets of paper, some containing music, were scattered throughout the lair. Dust covered it all.

The Phantom looked down and traced a gloved finger on the wood of the organ, leaving behind a trail. Is this what has become of me? Dust and echoes? A story forgotten? Is it for the best that I cease to exist? What is my life compared to others? I'm unimportant, a disgusting gargoyle born into this world, one that should never have existed. Why should I even bother?

While he was thinking, he was making patterns into the dust unconsciously. By the time he realized what he was doing, it had developed into a full-blown dust drawing. He looked down and saw what his hand had been doing. He had drawn a full music measure, all five bars and the treble sign and had started with some notes before he stopped.

Even while I'm not trying, I still feel music. Why? She was supposed to take it away from me when she left. How could I still think about music?

He sat down again at the chair and thought about his new conundrum. After a while the candles started to burn lower and the Phantom rose to replace them. As he went over to a drawer to get more out, he came across a page that had the title The Phantom of the Opera with music underneath.

Suddenly he had an answer. It's who I am. I am the Phantom of the Opera. I am the owner of the Opera Populaire. I am a genius musician and magician. My heart beats music whether I want it to or not. I am the Phantom.

He looked around once again, seeing things in a new light once more. I've let this place run down to ruin haven't I? He thought to himself. He turned back to the organ and took in how bad it looked. Now I know what Antoinette was talking about when she came down here yesterday.

Another remembrance came to him. "The new opera season is starting up soon, in a few weeks. Normally I wouldn't recommend someone in your state to oversee them, but seeing that you are you, I'm betting you'll be your old self in that time."

Why did she want me to oversee the opera? All I've done is cause problems when things weren't going my way.

No… he thought it through. She knows what I can do, what I can achieve through music. She knew how much it means to me. That's why she's offering that to me. My last redeeming virtue. To gift the world with my music. But I have no music to write anymore. Inspiration has fled me forever and I doubt that I could ever write again.

That doesn't mean I can't help great music be performed.

He stood there for a moment before moving deeper into the cavern. Going through a curtain, he opened a cabinet and pulled out several rags and cleaning solutions. He moved out into the main area and put the items on a table. Antoinette is right; I'm not ready to get out into the opera house again yet. But there are things I can do here first before then. A little housecleaning would suffice until I'm ready for bigger things, until I rebuild my strength to move about freely.

The Phantom moved to the closest paper on the floor and picked it up. It was part of another piece that he had written previously, but the first couple of pages weren't nearby. Sighing to himself, the Phantom moved about, picking up the paper not caring for the order of them, for that could be straightened out on a later date. Once he had an armful, he put the pile on the table and went to collect another. When he finished, he had about four piles of paper and parchment on the table, all disorganized which pained the Phantom slightly. If it were the past, it would have been unbearable for him to see music so... disorganized, like it was worthless. Now, it was just a mild pang.

Once the papers had been cleared away, he moved to repair the candelabras that were crashed over and replaced the candles in all of them. Soon, the dark gloom of the lair was lit almost as brightly as when…

Don't finish that thought. Forget, The Phantom commanded himself. He went to a closet and pulled out a broom and started sweeping. There were several pauses in his work as he waited for the cloud of dust to settle back down and his coughing fits to subside. Eventually, even the glass was gathered up with the dust and the floor was now dust free. Particles of dirt were floating on the lake from the sweeping.

The Phantom got a bin and brushed all the stuff into it, finishing his floor cleaning. He then realized how tired he was. My body isn't ready for hard work yet, he realized. I have to ease back into it. Brushing himself off, he went to his personal room. But before he got there, he made a detour to the kitchen. He took another slice of bread and ate it, then rummaged through the cabinets and took out all the liquor and set it on the table there. He gave the variously shaped bottles a hard look before deciding. He put the red and white wine back, the one bottle of champaign and one of the whiskeys. Then he took the remaining, which amounted to about five bottles of the harder stuff, and with one last longing look, poured them down the sink before he changed his mind.

Never going to drink like that again, he vowed. His business done, he tossed the now empty bottles and continued back to his room. Once there he took off his shirt and went to his own bed and drifted off into sleep.


Over the next few days the Phantom would fall into sort of a routine. He would wake up usually covered in sweat from both his nightmares and getting over his liquor abstinence. He would then change and get something to eat from the supplies Giry brought down. Once he finished, he would start cleaning and repairing things in his abode. He swept multiple times to make sure everything was gone and got the dust off of the furniture and instruments. He would go through several rags a day and needed to make more cleaning solution multiple times from running out.

After he got tired of cleaning, he would work on the instruments he had. The organ was the most visibly worse of everything there. He made it so that when he was pressing the keys the organ wouldn't make a sound, allowing him to clean off the keys in relative silence, save for the various noises he made. He then spent the rest of the third day cleaning out the organ, inside and out and once he finished proceeded to Voice it.

As one could imagine, several years of inactivity would make any instrument sound horrendous. The Phantom's organ, no matter the quality, was no exception. It was severely out of tune and the Phantom spent many hours getting the beats to be non-existent. Eventually he was satisfied with the progress he made and finished up the day.

The next he went to work on the other instruments, namely his violin. All the strings needed to be redone and tuned again, and the bowstring also needed to be replaced. He checked it over and cleaned it up and then proceeded to play and tune it. Nothing major came out of it, nothing that made the music magical. At that point in time, it was just notes and scales being played. While he played them excellently for having not touched it for so long, there was no feeling in his playing. In fact he kept muttering to himself to "not remember," and to "not feel." The Phantom then finished and repaired his flute, clarinet, and cello in much the same way, hating how his mind went back to those days.

But at least he got them working again.

After he finished most of the cleaning, he went about organizing his music and doing basic exercises to regain his muscle strength. He had a room specifically designed so he could practice getting around the opera house easily and he had left it alone for quite a while, when he was at his pinnacle of greatness. Now it served to help his body get back the muscles he lost. He started slowly, only doing small amounts of exercises, but gradually worked his close to normal. Push-ups, pull-ups and crunches, the lot of it. He also had some specialized equipment for climbing up ropes and other various things that would be present in the opera house. He even started doing his swordplay and fencing sets again, just so he could get back in the habit again.

With his music, while he didn't write or play it again, he was diligent to sort it out. He had forgotten how many numerous pieces he had written over his long years down in the depths, completed or otherwise. Once again, music was spread out on the floor, but this time in separate piles to organize it. Page by antagonizing page, he went through them all and gathered them up by opera or song. It was slow going but progress was being made.

By the end of the week, the Phantom had partially started to fit his clothes again, getting some more definition in his figure, both from the food and from exercise. He was still weak considering and his food had started to run out.

I can't stay here much longer rationing out the food; that's partially what got me into this situation in the first place. I need to keep eating to get my body strength back. I have only one option: I need to go up there and get food. His decision made, he gathered everything that he would need and started his trek upwards.

He took the path that would lead him close to the kitchens. While it had been a long time since he had gone this way, he still remembered each path his tunnels made and where they came out. Making the correct turns, he found himself at the beginning of another tunnel. However this one was shorter and led to a wooden wall. But that wall wasn't as solid as it seemed.

The Phantom put down his bag he brought and pressed his ear against the wall, listening for any sounds. He had admittedly lost track of time and needed to make sure he wasn't coming out in the middle of a meal or rehearsal, otherwise he could be spotted easily.

Hearing nothing, he pressed a certain spot, causing the wall to slide over quite noiselessly. The Phantom was surprised at how well it worked, considering that he hadn't oiled the wheels in a long time. Thanking his luck for the moment, he pushed the wall open the rest of the way.

He found himself in an empty kitchen, once again thanking his luck. Grabbing his bag, he went out, trying to make as little noise as possible. He wasn't as silent as he used to be and now could hear his footsteps. If he could hear them, then someone else could. But that was something he could work on in the future. He went around the cabinets, grabbing a little bit of everything, not taking too much otherwise somebody would notice it and that would lead to unanswerable questions and suspicions. He slowly filled his bag with various foods and some spices. Having a sizable bag, he went back over to the wall and entered again, leaving the kitchen visibly untouched.

The Phantom made good time back to his home and unloaded his bag into the various cabinets, leaving out some of it to make a meal. As he finished, he thought back on today. He felt… satisfied. It was a strange feeling, one that he hadn't felt in years. He realized that it was because he started feeling like the Phantom again. Sneaking around, stealing from the opera house, and basically causing mischief again. For the first time in years, he was acting like his old self.

That realization made him smile under his mask.


As the next week rolled along, the Phantom became stronger and more like how he was before. He had gone back to the kitchen once more and it seemed that his previous escapade had gone unnoticed and that allowed him to continue to get his food there. He had also continued his exercises as well and now was almost back to where he was several years ago.

But today he would do something different. He would actually overlook the upcoming opera finally. He took a few things with him that he might need: a knife, rope, parchment, and, just in case, the special liquid that would make someone's voice croak, like what he did to Carlotta in Il Muto. It never hurts to be prepared, he thought as he crept into the bowls of the opera house.

Unknown to many, the opera house was filled with passageways hidden in the walls and fake hallways. Trapdoors and false walls littered the place making it hazardous for people to get lost in at times, but only if they are truly uncoordinated. Most of the time trapdoors would open and immediately be closed due to the mechanisms being triggered improperly to prevent anybody from falling in, or unwanted guests. Not all of these ploys were designed by the Phantom, as some were used by the stage crew, but he adapted all of them to suit his needs.

However, since the fire there were a few of those that were torn down because of structural damage, so the Phantom needed to make a detour to get where he wanted. Which was Box five. His box.

As he grew closer, he could hear the sounds of rehearsals taking place onstage. Hearing the music made him go a little bit faster so he could see and hear better. Eventually he came to a small ladder inside a wall, which led directly to his box. He started climbing and eventually reached the point where he could enter the box. He checked to make sure there was no one in there, but he had no need to worry; the fear of infringing on the Phantom's box was still great even after all these years. The last person to enter was only sent there to clean it, and they did it hurriedly, but it was clean at least.

The Phantom crept out and took a seat perched on the edge of the shadows, just enough so that he could see everything, but nobody could see him. And he took in everything. The ballet corps was onstage and Madame Giry was once again in charge. Seeing her sculpt the ballerinas brought a nostalgic slight smile to his lips, especially when she smacked her cane down to get their attention and seeing their small jumps.

"No, no, no, Natalie get to your position and keep your hands extended, not loose like a lame duck. And Minnie, keep that smirk to yourself, you were late on that last twirl. Again!" Madame Giry's voice rang out through the rafters.

Above them, there were a few stagehands coordinating the moving of props, and of course there were a few admiring the view of the girls below them. The Phantom narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of a dirty blond man that he could tell reeked of alcohol, practically drooling over the sight of the ballerinas before he got dragged back to work. The Phantom shook his head in disgust. Pathetic.

As rehearsals went along, eventually the orchestra came into the pit. The Phantom got a small surprise when he saw Monsieur Reyer still as the conductor. Heaven knows why he's still around after all that happened here. I suppose the manager hired him back because of his affinity with the Populaire. He blanked on the name of the manager. Someone else I'll have to get to know later.

That 'later' came sooner than he expected. The day was almost over and they were preparing for a last rehearsal when the manager came in. He was a middle-aged man with brown hair and a straight posture. He had a slight goatee and he walked with a purpose, dressed in moderately upmarket clothes that gave a statement that he knew he was higher than you, but didn't shove it in your face.

The Phantom immediately picked him out and waited to see what would happen. Silently he was judging the new manager to see how he compared to the others, and whether he needed to be motivated to do his job like those last two fops.

"Ah, Monsieur Barrett, now we can begin." Reyer said.

"Yes, let's see what this looks like now." Barrett said, leaning forward analyzing the stage and the people on it. Immediately he was bumped up further on the Phantom's scale just by showing an interest in what was going on, at least beyond the wanting gazes at the dancing girls. Already better than the last two.

The music started up in a classical piece that gradually sped up in subtle movements. The Phantom noticed that some of the ballerinas were having trouble adjusting to the tempo changes. Before they continued on much longer, Barrett called for a halt and stepped forward to the stage.

"That was good until measure 52. Do you know what happens there?" He asked the ballerinas.

It was silent until a voice said, "That's when the beat speeds up." Both the Phantom and the manager looked and saw the one that spoke. It was Meg Giry, the daughter of Madame Giry.

"Exactly." Barrett said. "The change is a small jump and if you miss the change, then the entire thing is ruined because you'll spend the rest of it trying to catch up. Be quick about it and pay attention. You'll hear a slight dynamic change before that happens, so keep your ears open. Remember this is when Surgin is sneaking up to capture the princess from Kairo." He turned to Monsieur Reyer. "Once more, start at the phrase before the change."

Reyer nodded and the orchestra turned their pages while the ballerinas went to their positions. Barrett went to his seat and said, "Whenever you're ready."

The orchestra started up again and the ballerinas were slightly hesitant before they started, but once again the tempo change was subtle enough for them to get thrown off. "Stop!" Barrett shouted, "Again! You need to know every position. I could call any one I want and I expect you to know it. I'm generous and starting at the beginning of the phrase, but I might not be later once you get it. Again."

This scenario repeated itself twice more before Barrett was content with it. The rest of the rehearsal went more or less smoothly and at the end Barrett seemed satisfied. "Good work today. Get some rest for tomorrow because it'll be another day of practice." He stood up and made his way out of the auditorium while the rest of the ballerinas broke for the day. Some of them tried to get some of their more difficult moves down while the majority of them went back to their dormitories or to get something to eat.

Antoinette was talking to Meg for a moment before she sent her off and told the rest of the dancers to clear the stage. Once it was, she stood there for a moment before starting to walk off. But she stopped and looked up towards box five. He swore he saw the ghost of a smirk on her face before she left. The Phantom narrowed his eyes slightly as he edged himself back into the shadows.

Damn woman, she knows I'm back. That women will be the end of me eventually. He sighed, knowing there was little he could do about it, if anything. Quietly, he exited his box and made his way down to the ground floor. He wove in and out of the shadows along the secret paths through the opera house. Just before he was about to enter the hidden door to one of his tunnels, he heard a small scuffle inside a room.

Curious, he crept up and silently peaked inside, then entered himself, not making any sound. The four occupants of the room didn't notice as three of them were focused on the fourth. The Phantom narrowed his eyes in disgust. Even from the back, he recognized that dirty blond man from before and realized what this was. It was sadly not uncommon for stagehands, especially drunk stagehands, to try and take advantage of a woman. In this case, one of the ballerinas, who had managed to change in the short period of time from rehearsals broke.

"Now, now, don' be goin' making a fuss now mademoiselle. If you'll just giv' us what we want, we'll leave ya alone." The dirty blond said for the three of them.

"Please, just go away." The girl said, her black hair covering part of her face.

"Nah, I don' think so. We're goin' to have a good time together. Why would you skip out on that?"

"Touch me and I'll scream." The girl said, her voice betraying her fear.

"You won't do that, and if you'll do, well, tha's not going to be good."

The Phantom had enough. While he was tempted to kill the man, it was too great a risk. Besides, he wasn't so sure of his strength as he once was and with two other men, they could take him down easily. No, there is an alternative, he thought. He noticed that the dirty blond was taking swigs of his flask, which he could smell the whiskey in it. Creeping closer, the Phantom emerged quickly out of the shadows and opened the flask, pouring in that special concoction before he put it back.

A few seconds later he retreated as the blond took a swig and put it down. "Now are we goin' to do th-HURROK!" His voice cracked halfway through his speech in a terrible croak. The three me looked confused for a moment before the blond tried again. "Now are w-EEEECHK!" His voice cracked again and the Phantom behind a stage prop smirked to himself.

"Oy, Murray, what gotten into you?" the man on the right said.

"It's no-OAGHTH-ing." He growled as it happened again. "Alright, wh-AAAATHS-?" He cut himself off and the two men were trying hard not to laugh. "St-OOOp-! C-UUUt! God Da-AAAHM!" By then the two men were in hysterics at Murray trying to talk. Murray growled and said, "C-UUOOM on. Let's go. It's noOOOt werth it." He literally dragged the two men behind him as they couldn't stop laughing, leaving behind a really confused ballerina and an amused Phantom.

Seeing that his work was done, he silently went out of the room and went to his original door. He came back to his lair and as he stood there, he gave a bark of laughter. And I thought Carlotta's reaction was hilarious. He chuckled to himself before taking off his cape and hung it up on a rack, then proceeded to undress himself for sleep. Today was a good day, he concluded as his mind drifted off into sleep.


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Thank you for being patient with me. College is a real pain if you want to get things done.

Enough of that. Next time, we'll get back to Anna, Elsa, and Kristoff and their story of getting to Paris.

As always, Read, Review, Favorite, Follow. (R.R.F.F)

I remain your humble writer,

-OG.