A/N: Yay! I just got my first reviews. POTCgirl- my very first reviewer!! I was jumping up and down with excitement when you said you loved it! I was so freaked out that no one would like it.
and
Fox of the Nova- Hey- its you!! So glad to hear you love it. Go see the movie- it is really beautiful. (and gerry butler as the phantom. -swoon-)
Chapter 4- The First Lesson
That night, Clare dreamed of her Angel- half-hidden by a mask, standing in the shadows, watching over her, guarding her, singing to her. Singing in a gentle, sensuous tenor that engulfed all of her senses, washing through her fluidly, caressing her mind.
When she awoke, though, her ears were met with a defeaning silence. Clare shook herself, wondering if she hadn't dreamed all of it.
This is crazy, she thought, throwing the covers aside. Sleep, she knew, would not come now. She threw a thin cloak over her shoulders and took a candle from the bedside table. Leaving her bedroom noiselessly, she began to walk through the halls, unsure where she was going. As she turned into one of the side hallways, she could have sworn she heard music. She paused, waiting, listening pensively. Yes- there it was. It sounded like an organ, playing somewhere in the distance. She began to walk toward the sound, stopping at one of the doors where the music seemed to be resonating from, though it still sounded far away. She reached out to open the door, when she heard a sudden noise from down the hall. She drew back and jerked her head in the direction of the sound.
Nothing.
She let out a breath and was about to turn back to the door when she felt a cold hand on her shoulder.
Fear gripped at her heart, and she screamed.
Another hand covered her mouth, stifling the sound.
Clare began to struggle against whomever was holding her.
"Child-" she heard Madame Giry's voice say.
She stopped moving.
"Madame Giry- I-"
"This door is to be kept shut at all times, Clare. Do you understand me?" she said firmly.
"Yes ma'am," Clare replied.
"I want you back in the dormitories now."
"Yes ma'am," she repeated.
Madame Giry stared after the girl as she walked quickly down the hall, then stared at the door. She knew why Clare had been here. She was looking for the source of the music.
Erik's music.
The music of the night.
In his lair, Erik was absorbed in his music. He poured his soul into the keys of the organ, in a manner both fierce and gentle. This was his love, his passion. The music was blind to his deformity- it only knew the genius of his mind. If only, he thought, fingers slowing and coming to a stop, resting on the keys. If only people could be like that.
But they weren't. He mused over this, running his fingers lovingly over the keys of the organ. Christine had once told him that his face held no horror for her. He hadn't believed her then, nor did he now. He had seen the fear in her eyes on that night that she had taken his mask off for the first time.
Christine had feared him.
Madame Giry, kind though she was, feared him, as did everyone in the opera house.
The music was his only true friend.
The thought didn't bring him as much comfort as he had hoped.
A week passed until Clare heard her angel again.
It was a Sunday afternoon; the one day the performers had off, so most of them had gone out into the city, leaving the opera house more or less deserted.
Clare had taken the opportunity to steal off to the main stage. Walking out to the center, she looked out into the empty seats, imagining a full house, waiting to hear her sing. Almost afraid to break the silence, she began to sing softly, a song she had once heard Christine sing.
"Think of me,
Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye
remember me, once in awhile
Please promise me you'll try
then you'll 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...."
Growing more confident, Clare's voice strengthened, unaware that she was being watched. Her phantom was there, up in the catwalks, watching her perform, secretly admiring her beauty and her song.
"We never said
Our love was evergreen
Or as unchanging as he sea
But if you can still remember
Stop and think of me
Think of all things we've shared and seen
Don't think about the way things might have been
Think of me
Think of me waking silent and resigned
Imagine me
Trying too hard to put
You from my mind
Recall those daysLook back on all those times
Think of the things we'll never do
There will never be a day when
I won't think of you"
She paused, imagining the crowd, sitting on the edge of their seats. She could hear the orchestra in her mind, and began to move fluidly around the stage dancing to the invisible song, before slowing to sing again.
Up above, Erik was captivated by her. She had such presence on the stage, she was just like....
"Flowers fade
The fruits of summer fade
They have their seasons
So do we
But please promise me that sometimes
You will think
Of me"
She held the last note, letting it resonate throughout the hall.
"Brava!" she heard softly from above her.
She leapt a foot in the air, embarrassed at the thought of someone watching.
Erik laughed at her reaction. "It is only I, Clare."
"The Angel who isn't really an Angel, you mean?"
"If you must call me that, then yes."
"Well, if you aren't an angel, don't you have a name?" she asked.
"I do," he responded. "It's Erik."
"Erik," she rolled the name around on her tongue. For some reason, it seemed to capture all the mystery that came with her 'angel'.
"Your voice is beautiful, Clare," he said. "But, if you don't mind me saying, you're far too tense when you sing. You must relax. Don't lead the music- let the music lead you."
"How?" she asked. "Can you teach me?"
"If you really want me to."
"I do. Come down and show me."
There was a fleeting moment of hesitation in Erik's mind, when he thought about running- not wanting Clare to see him. He knew that once she saw the mask, she would want to know what was behind it. The moment was lost when he saw Clare, gazing up expectantly at where she saw his shadow. He took a deep breath, then began to climb easily down the ropes holding up the catwalks and the curtains, landing in the wings, out of view.
There was a moment of silence. Clare walked closer to where she had heard him land. "Erik? Where are you?"
"Over here," he said from behind her.
She whirled around and saw him, next to the red velvet stage curtain. He was standing so that she only saw half of him.
"How did you-?" she asked, wondering how he had slipped behind her without her hearing.
"I've been around this place long enough to know how to sneak around."
Clare smiled, moving nearer.
Her first impression of Erik was that he was quite handsome, from what she could see of him.
Then he stepped out from behind the curtain so she could see all of him. Clare's eyes were drawn immediately to the white mask that covered half of his face. The mask threw shadows under his eye on one side, and made him look rather sinister. The sight of it sent an involuntary shiver down Clare's spine.
He saw where she was looking, and she saw a shadow of something pass over his face, which she would have described as fear.
"Not what you expected, is it?" he asked, more coldly than he had intended.
Clare was about to agree, but caught herself and merely shrugged. His face might frighten her, but his voice was gentle, and she trusted it.
"Come," he said, gesturing to the stage.
She followed him, nervously, but excited.
He took her hand, and led her to center stage. "Now," he said, "Stand as if you were going to perform."
Clare's spine straightened up.
"Not so rigid," he said. "They can hear it in your voice." He gestured to the "audience". "Relax your shoulders, but keep your posture."
"Good," he said in his soft, silky voice. "Don't move."
He jumped down off the stage into the orchestra pit, in which stood an old piano. "Now sing."
He began to play.
Clare suddenly felt more nervous than she had ever been in her life- more, even than when she was singing before a crowd of people.
Erik stopped playing after the first verse. He got up and joined Clare back on stage. "You're still trying to control the music, Clare." He began to circle around her slowly. "Let the song lead you. Let it live inside of you. Let it take over. Let it control your voice- let it do what it will with you." He lowered his head to whisper in her ear, standing behind her. "Feel the song flowing through you... feel its power... and then... let it out. Surrender to it." There was a strange seduction to his voice, Clare found herself falling under some sort of hypnosis when he was this close to her.
He went to the piano. "Again," he said.
He began to play. Clare closed her eyes, thinking about what Erik had said. Without even having to think, her voice launched into the first lines. And she felt it, just like Erik had told her. She felt the song inside of her, possessing her.
She was so caught up in it, she didn't realize the piano stop playing, and Erik come up onto the stage. It was only when the song ended and she opened her eyes that she realized she had been singing alone.
She flushed. "I'm sorry- did you mean for me to stop?"
"No," he said, very softly.
She still looked embarrassed. "I suppose I looked rather foolish..."
Erik shook his head. "No. You were singing from your heart. There's no need to feel ashamed of it." There was a silence, and then Erik asked, in his normal quiet way, "Did you feel it?"
Clare nodded. "I felt it in my mind... it was possessing me, commanding me."
Their eyes locked for a moment- a brief instant, which culminated with the sound of footsteps.
Clare suddenly felt Erik's hand seize her forearm, as the footsteps grew nearer. "Tell no one of me," he said, his eyes boring into hers. Then, he was gone.
As she walked back to her room, Clare could think of nothing but Erik. It still gave her chills to think of his voice; how it wrapped around her, made her listen to him and only him. And his passion for music... was unlike anything she had ever seen before. In just an hour's time, he had taught her more than any other music instructor ever had. He had taught her to feel, to let the music overtake her.
And then there was the mask to think about.
Why did he wear it? The question nagged at Clare's mind. Was he hiding something? Or hiding from something?
She wanted to know, badly. But somehow, she had the feeling that Erik would be against her knowing. The way he had hidden himself behind the curtain hinted of that. Was he afraid she'd judge him?
When she reached her room, she sat down and penned a note to Christine
Dear Christine,
Hope you are well. I'm writing to tell you that I have found the Angel of Music, and I've never been more curious about a person in my life! He wears a mask, Christine- a white mask that hides half his face. I don't know why, and I fear to ask. But his voice is gentle and kind to me, even if he hides in the shadows. He seems to understand me better than anyone else ever has- except maybe your father. But he's so mysterious, and this nature is driving me quickly insane.
What do you know of him?
I know you know something, Christine, as you were the one who told me of him after all. I want to know the man behind the mask, to know who he really is.
Please tell me everything- anything!- I am desperate!
I will await your reply. Give my best to Raoul, and I hope to see you soon!
Clare
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