Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the book by Gaston Leroux.
A/N: The phantom I have in mind is the one portrayed by Gerrard Butler from the movie directed by Joel Schumacher, who is the best phantom I have ever seen. Please feel free to point out grammatical, canonical, historical and geographical errors.
In brooding silence, Erik stared at the flickering flame on the candle, entranced momentarily. He was struck by how much it resembled Christine, its elegant, sleek form, dancing gracefully to the gusts of wind sweeping into the chamber, just like how she had once danced gracefully to his music.
Christine.
His wounds were still raw, for he was deprived of the healing that was supposed to come with time. Grief sliced through his heart painfully like a knife, causing him to wince and wish fervently he could forget her once and for all. Again the walls of his underground home seemed to close in upon him, giving rise to a near claustrophobic feeling. It was time he ventured outside for some fresh air.
Erik had always prided himself on his ability to remain unseen in the shadows, believing he was naught but a shadow himself. That said, although he knew that the stews of Paris was always teeming with footpads and ruffians, never in his life had he considered himself as a potential target. It was therefore to his utmost surprise when a small lithe figure appeared out of nowhere and lunged at him, rendering him immobile temporarily, until the figure pulled abruptly away and spoke.
"I beg your pardon monsieur, pray forgive me. I was in a hurry and did not note your presence." Erik knew at once that the voice belonged to a she.
Ah, thought Erik wryly, so it was just an accident, no more, no less. It would have been an interesting experience if he were mistaken for a rich nobleman. What a pity it was not to be.
He studied the lady in front of him with the help of his keen eyesight and the watery moonlight which filtered through thick clouds.
His "assailant" had a petite form, noticeable despite the dark brown cloak covering her body. She had a pale complexion, and her eyes were large and luminous. Judging from the way she glanced behind and turned pleading eyes upon him, silently beseeching him to let her pass, he guessed she was running away from someone. If Erik had been gallant and chivalrous, he would have stepped aside immediately and allowed her to go on her way. But his past had left bitter scars on him, and since the world had treated him cruelly, he saw no reason not to repay it in kind. Chivalry was not a word in his vocabulary.
Besides, he was intrigued by this young woman who had the misfortune to stumble across his path, and that coupled with an absurd desire to know the color of her hair which was covered by the hood, was enough for him to refuse to budge, although he felt a little guilty.
"Please monsieur…" She was interrupted by a man who appeared at the narrow alley.
"There you are wench. There is no escape for you now." The speaker was a pot-bellied man with a satisfied sneer on his ugly face, very much resembling a squashed pumpkin. He was very much delighted with himself for trapping his quarry. Erik disliked him instantly.
Apparently Erik still had a last shred of chivalry in him, for he was suddenly plagued with an overwhelming need to protect her from this man at all costs.
"How much for her, monsieur?" Erik asked. The pursuer was startled for a moment when he noticed Erik for the first time standing in the shadows, his face hidden from sight. The man's face lit up at the prospect of receiving money. Rubbing his hands greedily together, he replied, "two hundred francs, monsieur."
"Two hundred francs?" Erik asked, his soft voice oddly menacing and incredulous, implying that the sum was ridiculously high and it had better be lowered or else. He stepped out of the shadows in a calculated move, revealing his masked face, which had never failed to instill terror. The other party visibly quivered with fear and stammered out a reply.
"Hun – hundred and fifty then. She is a virgin, so – so the price is naturally higher, and she has other uses too."
Erik chuckled softly, "so be it." He took out his purse and tossed the money into the man's hands. After counting it, he scurried away.
He glanced at his retreating figure with much distaste before turning his attention to the girl, who was staring at him in amazement and wariness.
"Well, mademoiselle, if I may have the pleasure of knowing your name?"
"Marjorie." She answered hesitatingly, "Marjorie Frances, monsieur. I thank you for rescuing me from that repulsive man." Erik noted with admiration that she did not seem to be frightened at all although he must have looked terrifying enough to send any lady into hysterics.
"Your servant, mademoiselle, but I am afraid it does not come without a price." He replied, moving closer to her, his nearness sending her pulse racing.
"I am afraid I can see no way in which to repay you, I am but a penniless destitute."
"But nevertheless, you are a very beautiful virginal penniless destitute. I can only begin to speculate on the ways you can repay me." He lightly tilted her chin, as if to survey her face. Marjorie gasped when she realized the implied meaning, involuntarily taking a step back from the stranger.
"I did not belong to that man in the first place. What took place just now was but a meaningless transaction. I owe you nothing." She lifted her chin defiantly and prepared to leave in a dignified manner by curtsying although she was not sure if he was of a high enough rank.
He held her by the wrist to prevent her from going. Marjorie felt outraged at this
"I have always thought myself as an intelligent man, and it appears to me you are in dire straits am I not right?"
"That, monsieur, is none of your business. If you would please unhand me immediately!"
Ah, thought Erik, so Mademoiselle Frances has spirit.
"Marjorie, Marjorie." Although she ought to have felt indignant at his familiar use of her first name, it sounded so right, the way he said it, like a caress, sending shivers down her spine. "Can you sing?"
"What?" Taken off guard, she forgot her anger at him for a moment, and stared at him incredulously for asking such an unusual question.
"Can you sing?" He sounded oddly hoarse, almost desperate for an answer.
"Why yes I can sing rather well, at least, that was what my father used to tell me."
"Then come with me, I may be able to help you carve a career for yourself." He started to walk and pulled her along.
"Wait!" Marjorie dug her heels into the pavement. "Where are you taking me?"
"Why, I would have thought that would be obvious. To the theatre of course." Erik replied. "Rest assured, mademoiselle, your virtue is quite safe. I have no intention of forcing my unwanted attentions on you, beauty though you may be."
Although she had no reason to, intuition told her she could trust this masked stranger, though she wondered greatly at the evident bitterness in his voice when he said "unwanted attentions."