These characters are not mine. I changed Christine to a young tenor, Christian, and Raoul to Jezebelle; for those of you who know the significance of the name "Jezebel", you'll understand. Oh, and I concidered the names "Anne" and "Anita", after Ann Coulter and Anita Bryant, two women that I just HATE.

I think of Gerard Butler as Erik since I've seen his flooring portrayal for Erik.

Warning to you: this is slash (gay romance). If you don't like slash, don't send me irate messages; just don't read it.

And I've considered the vocal parts for the characters...

Erik: Spinto tenor or dramatic tenor

Christian Daaë: Lyric tenor or spinto tenor

Vicomtesse Jezebelle De Chagny: Dramatic mezzo-soprano

Madame Estelle Giry: Contralto

Meg Giry: Lyric soprano or soubrette

Signor Ubaldo Piangi: Tenor

Signora Carlotta Giudicelli: Soprano

Monsieur Firmin: Lyric baritone

Monsieur André: Buffo tenor

Joseph Buquet: Baritone or bass

Monsieur Reyer: Bass

Behind Closed Doors.

Carlotta's screeching high notes broke the ears of the cast. But none of them dared to say a word about it if they liked her out of their faces. They had seen far too many of those foul tempers that she would throw if she wasn't satisfied with something.

Carlotta seemed totally absorbed in her singing. She thought herself to be a lark... but she sounded like a crow to the rest of the cast. Still, she was warming her voice up... but the cast saw past her saccarine singing voice; they saw only the demanding, spoiled diva that she was.

"Honestly, Carlotta!" Meg Giry said to herself, "You sound like an injured bull. If it wasn't for your vocal strength and its occasional moments of beauty, I don't know how you'd be with this opera house at all." Quickly, she shifted her thoughts to the dance steps, not wanting a reprimand from her mother, Madame Estelle Giry, who was busy concentrating on the dancers, daring them to make a mistake.

All over the stage, the chorus, ballet, and stagehands danced frantically as they tried to finish rehearsing, to finish the lavish sets and the ornate costumes. LeVèvre, the retiring manager of L'Opera Populaire, and his replacement managers, Firmin and Andre, looked on in distress at the half made-up cast howling their way through the grand choral scene.

"You see, Andre, Firmin, the grand opera before the curtain rises." LeVèvre said dryly, looking grimly at the troops practicing strenuously.

"But surely things will work out somehow. After all, this is the dress rehearsal." Firmin tried to assure.

As if to contradict Firmin and spite LeVèvre, more bad news came.

"Piangi has taken ill." a stagehand came out to announce, "He has lost his voice". Ubaldo Piangi, their best tenor, sick? The new managers, Firmin and Andre, already dismayed from Carlotta's screeching, cringed in panic.

Carlotta wailed in distress. "A, piu non posso! Perchè, Mio Ubaldo caro? Must you leave me to perform on my own?"

"You see why I am leaving," LeVèvre whispered to his new managers, looking defeated.

"Excusez moi, monsieurs, I have a message from the Opera Ghost." Madame Giry approached them briskly.

"What? The Opera Ghost? Dear goodness, you're all obsessed with this-!" Firmin groaned.

"He bids you welcome to his opera house,"

"His opera house?" Andre sputtered in disbelief.

"He says just that, monsieurs. He instructs you to keep box 5 empty at all times for his use, and he says that, gentlemen, his salary is due." Madame Giry continued.

"His salary?" Firmin could not believe this. Who was this Opera Ghost and what right had he to receive a salary from them?

"LeVèvre used to give him twenty-thousand francs a month." Madame Giry replied, looking a little cross.

"What? Twenty thousand francs?" Andre cringed.

"And you can't afford that with the de Chagny family as you patrons?" Madame Giry's voice was stern but smooth.

"Well, apparently there won't be any patrons with this production since it seems that we've lost our star!" Firmin snapped.

"Well, is there an understudy?" Andre asked, looking hopefully at the cast. None responded right away. They were in no hurry to accept the grueling life of a star.

"There's no understudy for Ubaldo Piangi, monsieur!" Reyer called out incredulously from the orchestra pit.

"Well gentlemen," a flustered Firmin grumbled, "It seems that we shall have to cancel, for nobody is available to fill in for Signor Piangi!"

"Christian Daaë could sing it for you, Sir!" Meg Giry piped up. A young, dark-haired man standing nearby looked at her, his eyes panicked.

"A chorus boy?" Andre looked uncertainly at the boy, who was standing shyly to the side, "Are you certain? You're joking."

"He has been taking lessons from a great teacher, gentlemen. I assure you." said Madame Giry, her black eyes staring into Andre's eyes piercingly.

"Who would this teacher be?" Firmin questioned.

"I'm afraid that I can't give his name, Monsieur." Christian's voice was barely audible.

Firmin and Andre looked at each other and turned away from the stage, fed up.

"Honestly, how can we accept a chorus boy who won't give the name of his professor?" Christian heard Firmin.

"No! This can't be! ...I have to do this or I won't survive!"

"I will do it-!" Christian called to them, hoping that they would stop. They gave him another unknowing glance.

"Oh Lord, help me! What am I doing?" Christian doubted how well he could sing. He looked beseechingly for help from anybody.

Madame Giry spoke up for Christian. "Let him sing for you, Monsieurs. He has been well taught."

"Monsieur," Christian signaled to Reyer, who was still standing at his post in the orchestra pit, looking a bit ruffled.

Christian's voice was pinched with anxiety. He couldn't produce a proper tone... but, on seeing the glaring faces of Firmin and Andre, he tried harder. Thinking of the death of his mother ten years ago, he put all of his emotion into the aria, managing two effortless high c's.

"Please, don't let them say anything poorly of me...!" he thought as he sang the aria, "Oh Mama, I hope that I've made you proud..." he was sure that his mother would be proud... but what about these managers? He focused on all he learned, thinking of the brashness and courage that Piangi displayed on the stage... but he wasn't Piangi. He was just a chorus boy. And one who was known to be quite shy underneath the facade of a performer. "A failure at nineteen years? I can't let that be-!

"I've been on my own for so long... if not for Estelle, where would I be? What if I'll fail? I won't be here much longer if I do...! Oh please, let them consider me for a bit part if anything, or at least let me stay here...!"

Glancing back around him, he saw that all were staring at him with awe. Christian gulped as he saw the looks on their faces. What were they thinking of him? Was his singing good? Bad? Mediocre? "Will I be turned away now?" he wondered. He closed his eyes, bracing himself to hear the words that he was dreading.

There was still silence from all of those that were present.

"What are you waiting for?" Andre broke the silence, "Get this gentleman's costumes prepared!"
At his command, the costumers bustled about to find the proper costume in the right size for the new star. The cast gossiped among themselves, still in awe and not yet believing that they had heard such spectacular singing from this humble chorus-boy.

Christian looked about him with an identical expression, not believing what had just happened...


"Pourquoi? Pourquoi, mon ange...? Pleur pas, mon amour... il est vrai que je doive tu laisser, mon coeur..."

Christian put his best into his acting and singing. He could not believe that he was actually singing in the main role of an opera. He did his best to focus on his performance and not on his disbelief and nervousness.

Never had the audience heard such beautiful, emotive singing from a man, and at his age. Many young women in the audience fawned and even swooned over his gentle good looks and ringing lyric tenor voice. Many ovations were given to an amazed Christian that night...


Jezebelle de Chagny watched the young tenor, just as amazed as he was. The young lady suddenly recognized Christian as the boy who saved her hat from the wind blowing it into the Seine.

"Christian Daaë? My, it has been a while! We've really grown up! ... but will he remember me? I must see him!"


Christian was very much aware that there was a pair of eyes and a pair of ears trained on him. Somebody that would be very proud of him... somebody that he was very much looking forward to seeing.
"Bravo... bravo... bravissimo...!" Chrsitian could hear those words faintly as he walked away from he chaos of the celebrating cast and crew.

"...There you are, Christian!" Meg Giry squealed with excitement. "You were incredible tonight!"

Christian blushed with gratitude. "Thanks Meg! I really appreciate it." he embraced Meg warmly, but then looked at her in the eye, his face half-serious, "Although you and your mother did put me on the spot."

"I'm sorry, Christian," Meg apologized, half-smiling, "We didn't mean to do that to you, but... where are you going?" Christian was moving away, looking almost as though he were in a trance.

"Christian..."

"My tutor must see me now..."

Meg, ever curious, stuck out her neck, following him. "Who is this tutor, Christian?"

Christian's eyes had a far away look. She knew that he was thinking of his mother. Adelheid Daaë, a notable operatic contralto and accomplished violinist/harpist, had died when he was nine years of age...

"Mama once spoke of an angel... the Angel of Music... she said to me 'when I die, my little one, I will send the Angel of Music to you. He will guide you.' I have been in his presence, Meg. He has visited me..." his face was calm now, even content...

"Christian?" Meg inquired, "Do you believe that? Do you truly believe that there is an angel guiding you?"

A placid smile spread over Christian's face, "Yes, Meg. I believe it... I have been in his presence. He has met me face to face."

Meg looked at him, disbelieving. "Christian, you must have been mistaken. Are you sure that this was real?... Christian, you're cold!" Christian's face had taken on a pallor and his hands seemed chilled, but there was no draft nearby. Meg studied him concernedly.

Shaking off the stupor, Christian came to his senses. "I really must go, Meg."

"All right." she sighed, nervousness for him instilled in her. She was quite perplexed by the thought of an "Angel of Music".

"Meg, are you a dancer or are you not? Come back here!" her mother commanded.

"I'm coming!"


Christian made his way to his dressing room and sat down, exhausted.

"I can't believe it...! I've made it!" He sighed with relief. He was terribly afraid that he'd be trapped in the frantic cycle of ballet. He was far from a polished dancer and he knew it. If that were to fail, then what? He'd have nothing at all.

An object on the floor in front of the mirror caught his eye. "So he's been here!" Christian mused, smiling as he picked up the rose. Many bouquets and other gifts had been given to him, but this single flower meant more to him than the entire florist's shop.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts

"Come in."

A striking young woman entered the room. The light danced through her blonde hair, her piercing green eyes gazed at Christian playfully.

"Christian! Can you not remember your Little Lotte?"

"Jezebelle? ...It is you!" a surprised Christian exclaimed.

He and the noblewoman embraced. They chattered nonstop, recalling the wonderful times that they had those years ago: picnics in the meadows on the outskirts of Paris; listening to Christian's mother warming up her warm, mellow voice and warbling as she played the harp; and recalling the day when they met. The wind had swept Belle's hat from her head and Christian, feeling that it was his duty to be courteous, gallantly chased after it.

"You almost fell into the river, as I recall!" She laughed.

Christian grinned at the memory.

"My mother said to me 'Someday when I'm in Heaven, my darling, I will send the Angel of Music to you...'"
Christian's smile dropped, his eyes were dim, "Mama is dead, Belle...," but a trace of smile returned, "And the Angel has visited me... I have been in his presence"

"I'm sure that he has," she said amiably, "Why don't you come to dinner with me?"

"I'm sorry, Jezebelle, but I'm afraid that I can't. I have to visit my tutor. He's very strict."

"Come on, Christian! I'll be waiting for you!"

"But Jezebelle-!"

He was too late. She was right out the door.

"Things have changed, Jezebelle..."

"So, she is gone... at last..."


Christian shivered at that voice. He'd longed to see him all night.

"The impudent girl, basking in your glory!"

"Angel of Music, come to me...!" Christian responded ecstatically.

The mirror pane slid aside, revealing a secret passage. Mist poured from the opening... a pale mask appeared from the shadows...

"Erik...!" "Christian...! Angel...!"

Christian's face met the soft, black folds of his lover's cape. Long fingers caressed through his dark locks of hair.

"Come, darling." that strong but gentle voice said...

Christian's sky-blue eyes looked up into Erik's amber ones.

Erik enveloped Christian in his cape, planting a kiss upon his lips.

"Our boudoir awaits us, love." Erik crooned, gracefully motioning to the mirror...

Christian cuddled in closer to Erik as they walked through the mirror...

Just as the mirror pane slid back into place, the door opened. Jezebelle burst into the room.
"Christian!" she shrieked, horrified at the empty room.