Each of these short stories is about point in the 2004 POTO movie where a change could send the story in a new direction. So assume everything is just like the movie, up to the point where each story starts. Each story is then a "divergence" from the original movie.

This is another three part story, a rather steamy one. Enjoy! I will post part two tomorrow.

Love and Death Part 1

"...As for our star, Miss Christine Daaé, no doubt she'll do her best. It's true, her voice is good, she knows though, should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn, if pride would let her return to me, her teacher...her teacher..."

The emotion blazing in those deep-set emerald eyes behind the sharp planes of the skull mask softened then, going from the cold menace with which he had stared down the managers and Carlotta to a tenderness that Christine could almost feel caressing her. Joy bubbled in her chest. He still cared; he hadn't forgotten her, hadn't abandoned her as she had feared in the long weeks without him.

It was all she could do to keep from racing up the stairs and into his arms. Then he was descending toward her, mouth slightly open and lips trembling as he breathed heavily, all his attention on her. Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her up the staircase to meet him.

He stopped one stair above her, his eyes telling her more than words ever could. He was overjoyed to see her, they said, he had missed her, and wondered if she had missed him, too. His gaze dropped lower than her face for a brief second. When he looked back up, she gasped at the anger and pain that turned his irises nearly black.

His gloved fingers brushed over the bare skin of her chest, and Christine thought she would burst into flames at that slight touch. Her desire turned to confusion as pain flared at the nape of her neck, the Phantom ripping the gold chain holding Raoul's ring from her throat. Shaking his fist in her face, his teeth bared in a snarl, he hissed "Your chains are still mine; you belong to me!"

Wide-eyed in shock, she watched him leap up the stairs to the landing. He whirled to face her once more, flinging the end of his cape over his arm. A blinding flash of light, a billow of smoke and the Phantom dropped through the trapdoor that opened beneath his feet to the shouts and gasps of the frightened party-goers.

No! He was not going to leave her again! Without hesitation, Christine raced up the stairs and jumped after him. The door closed as she fell and she plunged through darkness, only her training kept her fear from overwhelming her. All players at the opera house knew how to fall through a trap, and Christine landed on her feet, her knees bent to absorb the shock. The myriad of petticoats and hoops she wore under her huge skirt were a hindrance, though, and she pitched forward onto her hands in an ungraceful sprawl.

Light flared in the blackness and Christine rose, her palms stinging from their impact on the stone floor, but otherwise she was uninjured. She found she was surrounded by her own reflection multiplied many times over. "A hall of mirrors," she murmured, remembering the story about the carnival that she had pried out of Madame Giry when her Angel had disappeared after the disastrous performance of Il Muto.

At first she thought he had been angry with her for allowing Buquet to trap her, to put his hands on her. Then she told herself that the reason he had not come to her was because he was frightened of what he had done. He had killed a man for her and she knew it must weigh as heavily on his heart as it did on hers. But when two weeks had passed with no sign of him, Christine became frightened that he was ill or injured. She had gone to the only person she knew beside herself who had ever had contact with him, Cecilié Giry.

She had wanted the ballet mistress to take her to his home in the cellars, but the older woman had refused, saying it was far too dangerous for them to be wandering his domain without his guidance. Then she had explained about the traps designed to dissuade visitors, and when Christine begged for more about her Angel, Cecilié had told her of his time with the gypsies. Nightmares had plagued her for days afterwards, horrible dreams of a young Angel being abused and tortured.

Shaking off the memories, Christine spun around slowly, gazing at her reflections. Was this one of his traps? There had to be a way out, obviously, but where? Suddenly he appeared in the mirror with her, standing behind her, his eyes gleaming brightly in the dark hollows of the skull mask. She turned quickly, but discovered he was not in the round room with her, but only in the glass. "Angel?" she called softly.

No answer, save for his gaze burning into her from every direction. Christine closed her eyes against the sting of tears. What had she done? Why was he so angry with her? It was he who had ignored her the past months; she had spent every night until curfew in the chapel waiting for him. Anger flared in her breast. "Erik!" she yelled.

His gasp of surprise came from behind her and to the left. Eyes still closed, she whirled toward the sound, hand outstretched. Only when her fingers closed on the velvet of his sleeve did she open her eyes.

He stared down at her, his eyes cold and dark, all the love and warmth she had thought she'd seen earlier gone. "Clever girl," he growled. "Is this what you came for?" He raised his fist between them, the chain with the ring dangling from his fingers. "Your Vicomte's expensive little gift?"

Christine snatched the necklace from him and flung it away into the darkness. Opening her mouth to snap at him, to berate him for the hell he had put her through, she was stopped by the complete and utter shock in his eyes. In that instant, she realized he had stayed way for so long because he thought she didn't love him.

She would have to do something about that. Grasping him by his lapels, Christine raised up on her toes and gently touched her lips to his. For several moments he remained stiff and unyielding, in anger or in disbelief, Christine didn't know, but she deepened the kiss, her arms winding around his neck. "Please," she whispered against his lips, "oh, please..."

She felt something crack in him then, and his arms went around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. He was the one to finally break the kiss, breathing her name as he took her face in his hands. There was wonder in his eyes and love. No one had ever looked at her like that before, like she was everything good and beautiful about the world. She hoped he could see the same emotion in her eyes. "Erik," she whispered, "Erik, I--"

Shouts and the sound of fists beating against wood interrupted her. He closed his eyes for a second then kissed her forehead. "I must go, Christine." He released her, reaching behind him with one hand and pressing on the corner of one of the mirrors. It sprang open at his touch, a dim hallway now visible behind it. He stepped through the narrow doorway and disappeared into the gloom.

Christine glanced toward the source of the commotion, hearing Raoul's voice exhorting someone to get an ax. The mirror door was slowly swinging shut. Christine pushed it open again and went through, closing it securely behind her. "Erik," she called, "Angel, wait!" Gathering up her skirts, she ran after him.


To be Continued