Author's Note: Thanks to Squealing Lit. Fan, Spectralprincess, mildetryth, CarolROI, jeevesandwooster, Rose of Night, jtbwriter, steelelf, Aisalynn, montaquecat, Busanda and mikabronxgirl for their latest reviews. Thanks again, and enjoy! Nedjmet.

AN: PS, this is the new and (hopefully) improved version of the chapter, if you're reading it for the second time. Enjoy! Nedjmet.
Chapter 48

She was his.

Her hand slipped into the soft, cool leather as she was pulled from the warm room into the darkness that enveloped him. She saw the candles and in her haziness of mind, thought them to be moving apart solely to allow the two of them to pass down the corridor that opened before them.

Looking at the figure leading her down this foreign path, she met his gaze. She should have been looking into the eyes of a stranger, but instead her mind was filled with a sense of familiarity. She felt the music of this man as surely as she felt his hand keeping a tight hold of hers and she longed for it to truly unite with her own. So her voice was drawn from her once more as she wondered at the man, the Ghost, her masked Angel.

"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came . . . that voice which calls to me and speaks my name . . . And do I dream again? For now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there – inside my mind . . ."

She saw him frown almost imperceptibly as she called him Phantom. He had taken one of the torches and used it to light their path. Answering, echoing her song with one of his own, with that voice that she would know anywhere, he granted her wish and proved that she was not dreaming.

"Sing once again with me our strange duet . . . My power over you grows stronger yet . . . And though you turn from me, to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is there – inside your mind . . ."

She smiled as he sang, but could not help looking away as he mentioned the power he held. Though he maintained a firm but gentle grip on her hand, he constantly looked back at her, so that she always saw the vaguely familiar white mask. He truly was inside her mind, something which highlighted a reality of her situation she had never before seen. She pondered it as he led her deeper into the darkness she otherwise feared.

"Those who have seen your face draw back in fear . . . I am the mask you wear . . ."

"It's me they hear . . ." Their voices blended together in a perfect unison.

"Your/My spirit and my/your voice, in one combined: the Phantom of the Opera is there – inside my/your mind . . ."

What was this power he held over her? The old doubts surfaced briefly, swirling around in her mind: he's there, the Phantom of the Opera . . . beware the Phantom of the Opera . . . She could not keep one of them from slipping past her lips.

"He's there the Phantom of the Opera . . ."

He answered her, justifying himself through the song she had begun, the music which kept her by his side, the music that kept them as one.

"In all your fantasies, you always knew that man and mystery . . ."

". . . were both in you . . ." she finished the sentence, hazily acknowledging that which had been reconciled earlier, to some degree.

"And in this labyrinth, where night is blind, the Phantom of the Opera is there – inside my/your mind . . ." Again, their voices became as one, united in a music solely of their making. Again, she was completely under his wing as he helped her into a black boat waiting on a dark, misty lake; both of which seemed to have materialised by magic.

A note of trepidation must have entered her voice, for she was immediately commanded.

"Sing, my Angel of Music!" She obeyed, unable to resist his command or the music that had only just been discovered. Her voice took on a daring intensity she had never before known, rising higher and higher each time he bid her sing for him. And as she obeyed, they drew near to a cavern that was lit by hundreds of candles, until finally she reached her pinnacle and the boat came to a stop.

Her masked ferryman jumped out, swept his cloak from his shoulders and faced her. The music had ceased. She looked at the stranger once more, filled with fear as she suddenly realised she didn't know this man, yet she had allowed him to bring her to this dark place. He returned her gaze, looking at her reverently before speaking.

"Welcome, to the seat of sweet Music's throne." She looked around, marvelling at the beauty of the place. He had moved away to a large organ, which he now faced with his back to her. It soon became clear why as he sang.

"I have brought you to this place where words run dry, where all must pay homage to music . . . music . . ." He faced her again, having found his courage.

"In your mind, you must know that I need you, to serve me, to sing, and now you are here, it is time to begin our music . . . our music . . ." The words should have frightened her, but they excited her instead. Only her Angel spoke like that: to the very depths of her soul. Only her Angel could inspire her music. Seeing her silent response, he continued, his voice softening into the most enchanting of melodies, showing her what it was he spoke of.

"Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation . . . Darkness stirs and wakes imagination . . . Silently the senses abandon their defences . . ." He had returned to stand before her, holding out his hand. Her defences had gone long ago; she didn't need them with her Angel by her side. Confidently, she reached up and took his hand, allowing her to climb out of the boat and draw near, a look of awe on his face. As he continued, she mirrored that sentiment in her own features.

"Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendour . . . Grasp it, sense it – tremulous and tender . . ."

He beckoned her forward and she looked around once more. He touched her chin, bringing her head back to face him.

"Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light – and listen to the music of the night . . ." He left her side and moved to the organ again.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams! Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before! Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar! And you'll live as you've never lived before . . ." She obeyed, longing to leave behind all the sorrow of the life she had led, longing to surrender this darkness he spoke of that could soothe her soul and allow her spirit to take wing; to give in completely to the music. Her eyes opened with this final promise as he moved forward to take her hand again.

"Softly, deftly, music shall surround you . . . Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you . . ." He knew! No one else understood that which was at the very fibre of her being. His breath was on her face, he was so close. "Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind, in this darkness which you know you cannot fight – the darkness of the music of the night . . ."

She surrendered. He circled the organ. It was all she could do to obey his silent command, to remain still and allow the music to swell. All she wanted was him by her side.

"Let your mind start a journey through a strange, new world! Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before! Let your soul take you where you long to be!"

His voice rose in a magnificent crescendo, and with each instruction she silently gave in, though the ideas were overwhelming. His voice quietened and he drew near to her as he explained, "Only then can you belong to me . . ." His hands touched her face, oh! how she longed for him to move closer still. In that moment, she would have done anything for him to kiss her. But he did better: turning her so her back was pressed against him, his hands moving down her body in the most wonderful, burning caresses, though not taking any liberties.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication!" He took her hand and brought it up to the unmasked side of his face. She was drowning in that ecstasy he sang of.

"Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation! Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write – the power of the music off the night . . ."

He drew her forward as he showed her his kingdom. She looked around in amazement, hearing the music swelling as though played by an invisible, heavenly orchestra at her Angel's command. He smiled at her as he brought her forward and around one of the curtains. She could not help but return the smile. He was her Angel. He was hers! He looked past her and she followed his gaze. As she saw the mannequin veiled in white, her face fell. It was of a perfect bride. It was her. Perfect. This was what he saw. This was what he wanted. He demanded perfection from her music and now he was seeking the same perfection from her. The expectations, the knowledge that she could only disappoint him overwhelmed her with pain. The accuracy of the mannequin disturbed her mind. The full reality of the situation came flooding back, exhausting her in every way once more and she fainted. She barely registered the feel of two strong arms lifting her before she slipped into unconsciousness.

As she drifted off, she could have sworn she heard an Angel's voice pleading,

"You alone can make my song take flight – help me make the music of the night . . ."


He had ruined it. He had rushed her and spoilt it all. It could have been the most wondrous night, with her finally by his side, the two of them lost in music. But instead he had thought . . .

When she had taken his hand, he been filled with joy and a sense of pride; he had brought this wonderful creature into such a trust with him that the Angel had given herself over to the demon. He had had to keep looking back at her to make sure she was real, she was there, but her eyes had not left him for a moment. They had had to move quickly, for he could hear that boy beating against her door, as though he were worthy to gain entrance. But she had ignored the insolent pup, and been focussed solely on him.

She had not hesitated a moment. There had been doubts, for she had looked back, but she had followed him and sung as he commanded. Her voice had surely risen from even these depths to touch the very heavens. Though she had given him her performance at the gala, it had been nothing to the music she had given to him as he ferried them towards his lair.

He had hardly spoken a word, only sung. So long as he used his voice wisely, she would remain captivated. It worked. She had hung on to his every note as though his music was the very air she breathed. Was it possible? He had tried to woo her to the darkness that she so feared, to bring her away from what she knew and show her the world he could lay at her feet if only she would let him.

She had let him. It had taken every scrap of self-control to keep from kissing her at that moment. He had felt her breathing deepen and become rapid as he had guided her hand to touch his face. Would that it had continued. But not tonight. Tonight had been about releasing her soul from the confines of the world above. He had sought to win her trust and her favour and had delighted when she had looked to bestow it.

She had been so responsive, so alive because of him that he could not resist showing her his creation, his gift to her, his deepest hope. And she had fainted. It was not the first time a woman had fainted because of him, but it was the first time it had truly hurt. Once again, he found her in his arms; only this time was painful where the last had been ecstasy. He had rushed her, it had been too soon. The performance must have been taxing; he had overwhelmed her senses with music and then thrust that upon her. But surely he had not mistaken the desire that had been written across her features as she drank in his music. The intoxication he had sung of had not been felt by him alone. And now he had ruined it. The final caress he had given her before drawing the curtains down he had been unable to resist – she was so beautiful! And it had kept him from lying beside her, continuing to hold her. Perhaps one day she would accept a caress from his ungloved hand.

He had been working solidly since he had left her, searching the deepest recesses of his mind for the music that would ease her fears and bring her back to him once more. If she cried or screamed and demanded her freedom when she woke, he would not blame her. She had called him 'Phantom', and rightly so: he was a ghost, a spectre, a demon; and what right had a demon to claim a seraph? But he had to try. He could not lose his Angel now that he had finally had a sweet taste of Heaven.