A/N All right, here we go. the usual disclaimers. The characters belong to Gaston Leroux, not me. (Sobs) I wish they did! Although I'll admit I am taking this from the ending of the ALW version (who doesn't? It's one of the only good versions where Erik is believed to have survived).

All right I was just watching Disney's 'Beauty and the Beast', and came up with this idea. although not totally original I'll admit. You see everyone has been coming up with these parodies/crossovers/put-the-characters- through-a-different-story plots. and the idea of how the plot is actually going to go was rooted from a fan fiction for 'Beauty and the Beast' the TV series. So without further ado. here is my story (And no I don't know where it's going to go or how long it's going to be. I'm just going with the inspiration.) As always, reviews are welcomed.

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Beauté Et L'Ange

Erik lay in Christine's room, listening as the mob ransacked his home just outside the hidden doorway. He could hear his beloved music being torn. could hear everything he'd grown to love and count on being destroyed. At one time, he even heard his precious Aeysha give out a yowl of protest or pain. Perhaps one of them had only stepped on her tail. He certainly hoped so. If they hurt her, there would be a great deal of Hell to pay.

Yet there wasn't really time to think about what was happening outside. Once Christine had kissed him, all the breath had left him, and even now he found it hard to continue taking in air, and expelling it through sheer will alone. All the strength had left him at the one moment of affection he'd been granted his entire life. A kiss that had pulled him from the very depths of sanity. only to deposit him back on earth to be alone once more. He didn't know for certain what had hurt worse. To have known a kiss at long last. or to have had to let Christine go away with that boy, whom he now knew she would never stop loving.

*Why is it so hard to breathe?* He asked himself. He didn't know. All he knew was that something had begun in his body the moment she'd kissed him. At first, it had only been a loss of breath. Yet he'd assumed at the time it had something to do with his initial shock, which even now hadn't worn off. Then, he'd assumed it was the pain of losing her to that spoiled, rotten Vicomte. Yet the tingling running through his body. as though his bloodstream was filled with grains of sand. had not stopped. Eventually, his face had begun to hurt, and he now had a whopping headache. Nothing seemed to get rid of it. not even concentrating on something else. Of course, when he could only lay there and hope that this strange discomfort did not draw the attention of those outside, there was little else to concentrate on.

Hours passed, and the mob was slowly leaving the lair. Outside, he could hear Meg Giry talking anxiously to her mother, whom apparently had finally joined the rest of the furious crowd. The older woman was chiding her daughter angrily for disobeying her and coming down here. Yet Meg kept saying it didn't seem to matter. There was no one there. and no one had any guesses as to where either Christine, Raoul, or the Phantom himself had gone.

'Look, Maman! I found the Phantom's mask!' Meg was very easy to hear, even through the walls. She had such a . distinct voice. 'You don't think he would leave without it, do you? He wouldn't have, surely!'

'Hush, child.' Madame Giry scolded again. By now, it seemed they were alone in his home. 'The Opera Ghost will come back for it if he is still alive. Leave it on the chair. we must go immediately.'

There was another half hour of silence before he dared to move from the bed where he'd collapsed. His thoughts had been forced to wander as he lay there, simply to keep his mind off of the strange sensations. He'd thought a great deal about his mother, whose possessions surrounded him at that very moment. His mother, whom had lain dead in the very bed he now lay on. He remembered the night he'd gone to find her dead, and sighed, shaking his head. Slowly, a hand rose up to wipe at the sweat of exhaustion from hise forehead, and found himself wiping away long, fine hair.

*Wait a moment.* He thought to himself in shock. *I took my wig off, I'm sure of it. Christine tore it off on stage.*

Slowly sitting up, he concentrated again on breathing, and was relieved to find it much easier now. The unusual feeling was leaving, at long last. He'd wondered if it would stick around forever, or perhaps killed him. Yet he felt no pain. no dizziness as he forced himself towards Christine's vanity, where a mirror stared out into the dark room. With shaking hands, he struck a match, and brought it to the wick of the lamps on either side of the mirror. For a long moment, he didn't look into it. he didn't dare. He hated the sight of his face in the mirror. Despised it. yet look in the mirror he must.

He did not think that the man in the mirror was him. Quickly, he turned, hands coming up in fists to defend himself if necessary. But of course, there was no one else in the room. No one could get into it, except for Christine. But she was gone with Raoul. She wouldn't be in the room, and that most certainly had not been her reflection in the mirror. Very slowly, he dared to turn back around, and face the amber-hued eyes in the smooth, glowing face before him. Not glowing, he realized. but healthy, just as the Vicomte's skin was. Smooth, and rich with color and life. The cheeks were thin, and the forehead small. The chin went down into a somewhat wider curve, not quite squared as the ideal mans' chin might be. but definately masculine. Vaguely bushy eyebrows of auburn brought expression to the shocked and frightened eyes in the mirror. and matching hair. long, luxurious, and slightly curly. fell down over his shoulders. This was absolutely nothing like the face he'd known for fifty years. This face didn't even look old!

'Impossible!' He breathed, reaching up to touch the cool glass surface of the mirror. Yet the hand itself was not his as well. Surely enough, the man in the mirror was wearing his own clothes. but this simply could not be him. Swallowing thickly, Erik dared to lower his eyes to his real hand. The fingers were just as long as they had been. but with the correct amount of flesh on it. it seemed like a perfect, naturally sized hand, with perfectly manicured fingernails. They were the hands of a musician. Slowly, his eyes lowered further, and he realized that his frame was just a bit wider, a bit stronger looking. There seemed to be the right amount of muscle on him, the right amount of flesh that was not stretched tight over his form, but thick like the skin of an adolescent.

'Not possible.' He insisted to himself again. 'Not. possible.'

Turning, he shook his head to collapse on the bed. He was not prepaired to accept this. He was ready to go to sleep now. When he awoke, there would again be need for his mask. The idea made him shudder, but what he'd just seen in the mirror could not have been possible. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, and slowly passed out, while the flames by the mirror died down.

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'Raoul, please forgive me.' Christine pleaded. She sat across from her fiancee as they attended breakfast at a modest hotel several miles outside of Paris. She reached across the table to take Raoul's hand gently in her own, watching him with pleading eyes. 'I have to go back and see what is left. The papers say that the Opera Ghost was not found last night. and everyone is still thinking that you and I are dead! Surely you cannot object to setting everyone at ease about our wellfare!'

'Christine, I will not have you go back to that terrible place.' Raoul objected sternly, squeezing her fingertips insistently. He had barely gotten any sleep the night before. The things he'd experienced in the Phantom's lair simply refused to let him rest. They kept running through his mind, making him feel so many emotions at once. Fright, anger, compassion, jealousy, and finally relief. All of that was over, but she wanted to go back and see if the creature was still alive!?

*Not the creature.* He scolded his mind, for Christine's sake alone. He knew how much compassion she'd felt towards him in the end. That had been why she'd kissed him. That was why she wanted to know how he was now. The man who had given her a voice like that of an angel. No, he couldn't say that he entirely blamed her for wanting to check up on her mentor. although the idea still repulsed him. *Erik.*

'What if he isn't dead, Christine?' He asked, rightfully concerned. 'What if he thinks you've gone back to stay with him? Have you considered the possibility that he may not let you go ever again?'

'I've considered that after how I betrayed his trust, that perhaps he may not want me there at all.' She replied softly. 'Raoul. please. for my sake. Let us go back there today. I have to tell Meg and Madame Giry that we're all right. I have to see if Erik is still alive. At least so that I might put my conciece at rest.'

Raoul sighed heavily, taking a long sip of hot coffee that almost scalded his throat.

'This afternoon.' He agreed finally. 'But if he is alive, Christine, you must swear to me that I might go with you, and bring my pistol. If he ever tried to take you again.'

'He won't, my dear.' Christine promised gently. 'You may bring it. but do not draw it. He'll kill you if he is alive. Just seeing it might send him into a horrible rage. I don't want him thinking I've come back for you to kill him.'

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Erik opened his eyes warily, knowing instinctively that it was late into the day. He wondered how long he'd been sleeping. The mob had come and gone, and he'd passed out on the bed. At the moment, he didn't recall seeing the strange reflection in the mirror. His mind was determind to keep the episode out of mind entirely. Yet something had awakened him, hadn't it? With a groan, he forced himself to sit up on his mothers' mattress, and rubbed at his eyes. They felt odd to him, but he didn't think about it. No doubt sleeping with his face buried in the pillow all night and day had made his skin puffy. as sometimes eyes would become swollen after being put through such abuse.

Whatever had awakened him, Erik was quite certain it had to have been Aeysha in the next room. Yes, after a moment he was posotive of it. He could hear the cat mewling out in the drawing room, and he stood. She was hungry, no doubt, and wanted to be let outside to hunt for her mice. Shuffling over to the seceret door of Christine's room, he stepped outside, and was immediately greeted by his siamese cat rubbing up against his leg affectionately, and he leaned down to pick her up.

'All right, my precious.' He began softly, stroking her head. 'All right, let's get you something to -'

The cat abruptly narrowed her eyes at him, and let out a low, menacing growl. Erik froze temporarily, pulling his face away from her. He wondered what had gotten into her so suddenly, and tried to rub his finger under her chin soothingly. But Aeysha would have none of it, and she hissed, spitting angrily. Her teeth sank into his finger, as one claw swiped across the back of his wrist.

'Merde!' He swore angrily, dropping the cat so that she landed gracefully on her feet, and began to arch her back, hairs standing up on end as she continued hissing at him and spitting. 'Aeysha! What has gotten into you?'

There was a sound across the room, and he lifted his head abruptly, growing still. Yet Aeysha still hadn't stopped throwing her little tantrum. even though at the sound of his voice she'd calmed down just a tiny bit. Erik listened very carefully, as the door to the room, which lead out onto the lake, nudged open a bit.

'I think he's in here, I think I heard him.'

Erik's heart leaped into his chest, and he took in a sharp breathe, holding it for another moment. It was Christine, but she was not alone. He heard another voice speaking with her in a low and insistent voice. Erik narrowed his eyes angrily.

'No, Raoul, I have to see for myself. Stay out here. If I need you, I'll call. It is best you stay out here. God knows what he'd do if you went into his home again.'

The door opened, and Erik simply stood there as Christine walked into the room. Her hair was pulled back into a pony-tail, and she wore a simple dark blue dress, her eyes shining the exact same color. Of course, the fire in his hearth had gone out many hours ago. Yet Erik could see quite well with his eyes. Very well indeed. It also helped that Christine had a lantern held up in front of her, the light illuminating her face, and most of the room. Her eyes looked about quickly, and then widened when she saw him.

'Oh, Mon Dieu!' She cried, surprised. 'Who are you, Monsieur? What are you doing down here?'

*She's gone mad.* Erik thought dully. *Why can't she see who I am without my mask?*

'Who else would it be, Christine?' He asked her in a soft, tender voice. 'What are you doing back here? Why is that - Why is Raoul with you?'

Christine gasped, and the lantern fell to the ground, exploding before the light in the room died.

'Erik????'