SINCE I HAVE THIS FEELING THAT IT'S MOSTLY DOCTOR WHO FANS READING THIS, I'LL FILL YOU IN ON THE PHANTOM BUSINESS.

IN THE UNIVERSE OF THE MUSICAL/FILM/SUSAN KAY'S NOVEL, MUSIC AND SEX ARE INEXTRICABLY LINKED. "THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHT" SERVES AS A POTENT (PARDON THE PUN) METAPHOR. ERIK (THE PHANTOM) HIMSELF IS BLESSED WITH A STRANGE POWER OF HYPNOTIC SUGGESTION WIELDED THROUGH HIS EXQUISITE SINGING VOICE. SO, THERE YOU HAVE IT. YOU CAN PROBABLY GUESS WHAT'S COMING (OR WHO). (WOW, I'M IN FINE PUN FORM TODAY!)

IF YOU DON'T READ FRENCH, I'VE POSTED THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF THE SONG LYRICS AS AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT CHAPTER (AFTER THIS ONE). PERHAPS YOU CAN LOOK AT THEM SIDE-BY-SIDE. AND YES, IT'S AN ORIGINAL SET OF LYRICS - I HOPE YOU ALL APPRECIATE THE TEARS AND TOIL THAT WENT INTO THIS :-).


MIDNIGHT BLUE

Fifty years of life had never brought Erik this kind of wonder or delight. Every form of prestidigitation he had ever seen, every act of léger de main had been fully explicable to him, and therefore boring. Even his own trickery was growing stale. His amusement at being called The Phantom of the Opéra was part of what caused him to press forward with frightening the tutus off the ballet chorus, no longer the fun of the tricks themselves. It had been diverting enough, until he fell in love. Then it went too far...

But no matter now. He was in a kind of labyrinth he had never seen before. How could such vast spaces, such mazes, such cavernous rooms fit inside the blue box he had seen? It was impossible and wondrous, and as far as he could tell, nothing short of supernatural. Finally, someone had succeeded in deceiving Erik into believing in real magic.

The controls did not interest him much, though he promised himself that if he had the chance, he would come back this way and investigate. What interested him was the spatial paradox. His mind was stretched to its limits just being here (along with trying to keep out that force, cloying at his consciousness), and he decided simply to wander.

A sterile-looking room attracted his attention not far beyond the main room. It was large and brown-tinged, much like the rest of the interior. What looked like a large pewter box stood near a corner, and it was larger than he was! He opened it and found food inside, contained within an artificially cold space. Further on, he found a flat surface with four metal coils. Dials nearby read "low, medium, high," and he surmised that this must be some kind of heating device. Cabinets yielded gadgets he could not identify, though he worked out that most of them were run on electricity. A fruit bowl sat in a wicker basket on the counter, so he took an apple and dropped it in a pocket for later.

He found a room that seemed to contain games – he saw a Mah-Jongg table and an elaborate chess board in mid-play. The block nearby indicated that it was black's turn – he saw an excellent next move for black, and decided to take it. He smiled at his quiet cleverness and moved on. He found a room that seemed to be used for storage, as it was stuffed to the gills with more electrical devices. Eventually, he came upon a bedroom. It was obvious that a woman slept here, as there was jewellery spread out over the vanity. He merely looked inside, he did not linger. This was clearly a private space.

He turned a few corners. He found a sitting room with a fireplace, he found an observatory, a swimming pool, a room filled with nothing but men's clothes, and eventually, another bedroom, this time an enormous room with even a second floor. Again, he did not go inside, merely looked from the doorway. The colours inside and the clothes that he could barely see hanging in the wardrobe suggested that a man slept here. The bed and other surfaces were covered with books and maps, and Erik immediately felt a kindred understanding with this man.

A woman slept in another part of the labyrinth. He had a large bed, but he chose to fill the empty space with knowledge. This arrangement seemed tragic and familiar, and he wondered if the man was like him: clever, strange and detrimentally unique. He closed his eyes and could feel a longing lingering in the air like an aroma, but he knew he might just be projecting his own brokenness into these rooms. For their sakes, he hoped he was wrong. He hoped that this man did not fill his bed with cold intelligence rather than warm flesh because he loved a woman that he could not touch.

He tried to shake this train of thought away. The most interesting, astounding moments of his life were currently ensuing in this impossible space, and yet the most anguished moments of his life were still at the forefront of his mind. Hard as he tried, Christine would not leave him. Funny that. Six months ago, hard as he tried, she would not stay.

His wandering led him further and further into his own curiosity, and further and further into this amazing place. At some point, he realised that he had wandered in so far that he would never find his way out again, but he did not concern himself. Only the journey seemed to matter now. He only amusedly hoped that there was no trap door set, waiting to ensnare him in some sort of torture chamber.

So engrossed was he, that hours later, he almost failed to hear the voice. As far as he could tell, the man said only "That's odd," and then nothing else. His silence caused Erik to suspect that he knew someone was in his lair, just as Erik always did when people wandered too far down into the bowels of the Opéra. Then the man seemed to leave again. Erik heard nothing more until two muffled voices came from the depths of the labyrinth. His sense of direction was normally excellent, but today, in this place, it was quite shaky. Nevertheless, he thought he could tell that the voices were coming from the direction of the man's bedroom. They were not saying much, but the fact that they were together was enough.

Erik secreted himself in the nearest room, where he figured he would stay the night. He did not believe in God, but if he had, he would have prayed for these two people, now sharing the vast space with him. But he didn't need God or prayer. He had always comforted himself and others with song.

The room he was in was semi-illuminated, and he could see a crimson velvet fainting couch – he would sleep there. He also saw another unidentifiable apparatus hanging from the wall, something he was now used to seeing as a result of the day's adventure. This thing would have looked like a painting in a frame, except that it was blank and grey. He wondered if somehow images might appear on the surface by way of electricity or other "magic."

He shed his opera cloak and his waistcoat and laid them aside. He stood quite still and waited until he was certain that the voices had stopped. Then he gave himself one hour's meditation. Once he was relaxed, he conjured a song from the corners of his mind. It was a song he had written for Christine, in his mind a masterpiece, but it had caused her to faint when she heard it. So shrouded was he with love and fantasy, he thought of it as a piece to which he had given birth, rather than written.

He sang. It was a cloudy, warm reverie born in the night...

En nuit je m'enveloppe en me sentant, en me souvenant,

Je respire l'odeur et tu es dans l'air, en t'attardant.

Ton essence me remplit le corps, es-tu remplie de moi ?

Je sais que ce n'est qu'une fantaisie mais ça ne m'empêche pas…

J'étends mes bras, tu y réponds d'un baiser,

Et puis tu réponds de ton toi, ton être entier.

Maintenant c'est décidé, je suis à toi, tu es la mienne,

Exactement comme en noir deux amants s'appartiennent.

Emballé, je m'en vais, je tombe au-delà du seuil,

Tu me remues, et puis tu m'accueilles.

Quand même je deviens solide et tu deviens liquide,

Nos êtres sont en harmonie, saisissants et intrépides.

Notre ouverture grandit, se joue, commence l'opéra magique !

Je suis les paroles, mon amour, et tu es la musique,

Soudain tu m'entoures de chaleur, tu me contiens,

Nos mouvements font une chœur, chantant envers le même refrain.

Les cordes brouillent notre chanson en beauté, en démence

Et leur rythme nous apporte en avance, en avance…

En cordes lisses, une basse nous impose son impatience,

Alors, la musique, et les paroles dedans, suivent sa guidance.

Et un mélange parfait d'un mot ouvert et une note pendue, il vient.

Ensemble ils versent et répandent dans l'air des violons peint.

L'amour orchestral nous possède, nous en somme une partie.

L'opéra est neuve, mon amour, les cordes nous supplient.

And when the song was finished, he repeated it. Then, Erik lay down on the crimson couch and drifted off to sleep.


The sound did not wake Martha so much as it extracted her from sleep. The painful tones brought her round, until she found herself, quite involuntarily, sitting up in bed straining to hear. A song, exquisite, anguished, hypnotic, was sounding inside her head. The words were in French, but she understood them – a love song… sensual, dreamlike and yearning.

Something stirred beside her, and she turned her head. Her bedmate sat up and looked at her with a quizzical expression she had seen hundreds of times. "Listen," he whispered, and then his face morphed into an expression she had never seen. Their eyes locked as the song dissipated, and they stared into one another with amazement and some kind of… intoxication.

And then the song began again. The same pure tones emerged through the darkness, the same tactile, sensuous words…

En nuit je m'enveloppe en me sentant, en me souvenant,

Je respire l'odeur et tu es dans l'air, en t'attardant.

Ton essence me remplit le corps, es-tu remplie de moi ?

Je sais que ce n'est qu'une fantaisie mais ça ne m'empêche pas…

Her eyes did not move from the Doctor's, nor did his move from hers. Their souls seemed to look askance at each other. Es-tu rempli de moi? Are you filled with my essence? Ce n'est qu'une fantaisie... it's only a fantasy.

J'étends mes bras, tu y réponds d'un baiser

Et puis tu réponds de ton toi, ton être entier.

He reached out tentatively toward her lovely face, as though to touch her jaw with his palm. She caught his hand and kissed it, first the palm, then across the wrist and down his arm. Desire was stirring in both of them, and the next time their eyes met, so did their lips. A full-bodied kiss gave way, and as his tongue probed her mouth, she pushed her body closer, against him, and clung with her arms, and her whole being. He pushed her gently back until her head was resting on the pillow and the length of his body was resting upon her. In the fog of confusion and love and music, they were lost to one another, floating in the smoke of a different consciousness, a whole new world.

Maintenant c'est décidé, je suis à toi, tu es la mienne,

Exactement comme en noir deux amants s'appartiennent.

A blip of sanity crossed the Doctor's mind, and a shadow of reality shone in his eyes as he pulled reluctantly away from Martha's embrace.

Emballé, je m'en vais, je tombe au-delà du seuil…

"Martha," he panted. "I can't stop."

Tu me remues, et puis tu m'accueilles.

"I don't want you to stop," she whispered, and all reason forgotten, he buried his mouth in the crook of her neck, eliciting a symphonic groan from her. Into the night, she whispered again, "No, please don't stop." Then she tugged at his t-shirt and helped him wrestle himself out of it without pulling away from her for too long.

Quand même je deviens solide et tu deviens liquide…

He shifted his weight, and for the first time, she felt a certain hardness pressing against her thigh. The feel of it made her melt with desire. She knew she was growing molten at her centre.

Nos êtres sont en harmonie, saisissants et intrépides.

She felt hungry for something, she wanted to consume, and she could tell that he felt the same way. He unbuttoned the blue pyjama top that she was wearing, nearly ripping the buttons off in the process. His mouth traversed her shoulders, breasts, neck and lips, searching for something, and his body was grinding into hers, probing, needing. At last, he manoeuvred himself between her legs. Supporting himself on his hands, he looked down at her with lucidity, and a seriousness he normally reserved for planets in peril. She pushed his pyjama bottoms down over his erection, and with her eyes, gave him approval.

Notre ouverture grandit, se joue, commence l'opéra magique.

Je suis les paroles, mon amour, et tu es la musique,

Soudain tu m'entoures de chaleur, tu me contiens…

The suspense threatened to break her in two, and now the wait was over. He pushed inside her with one liquid motion, answered by a moan from each.

Nos mouvements font une chœur, chantant envers le même refrain.

His lips pressed against hers once again, and his tongue probed her mouth as though he wanted to be completely entrenched in her. He moved inside her with force, all gentle overtures having been left behind, and reflecting the same urgency that she felt. Her body glowed with the pleasure of it, his perfect thrusts, his seeming ability to read her mind and listen to her body.

Les cordes brouillent notre chanson en beauté, en démence

The fog that surrounded them in the form of song was palpable now. It filled their senses and made them insatiable and unhinged.

Et leur rythme nous apporte en avance, en avance…

It spurred them on, and Martha could feel herself advancing closer and closer to the brink, and she felt the Doctor's body moving with ever greater urgency.

En cordes lisses, une basse nous impose son impatience,

Suddenly, it was here, a force boiled up from deep inside and told them it's time. He looked at her starkly again, and she saw in his eyes the same unhinged need that was boiling up inside her. If she hadn't known better, she'd have mistaken the expression for anger.

"Martha," he hissed, and she reveled in the sound of her name on his lips, pushed out from a place of pure lust. "I still can't stop. The time is now…"

Alors, la musique, et les paroles dedans, suivent sa guidance.

"Yes," she told him, replicating his throaty whisper. "Let it take you, Doctor. Bring me with you."

Et un mélange parfait d'un mot ouvert et une note pendue, il vient.

And then they were taken together. In a perfect, exquisite moment, they came together with interlocking moans…

Ensemble ils versent et répandent dans l'air des violons peint.

… and each one relished the feeling of the other spasming, flooding, giving in to the music in the air.

L'amour orchestral nous possède, nous en somme une partie.

L'opéra est neuve, mon amour, les cordes nous supplient.

And as they recovered, the Doctor looking down upon her with shock in his eyes, Martha looking back with unabashed love, they knew they were not finished. They knew in that moment that their relationship had changed, their lives had changed. And they knew that they must be taken again…

The Doctor leaned in once more and kissed Martha with a combustible craving, and their song recommenced in due time. Each noticed in their turn, just barely, that the singing had stopped, but their opera was just beginning.