Chapter 3

An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin- Thanks for all of the reviews! (Gives a large plushie)This chapter is for you.

Noelle got up softly. Everyone else was sleeping, some from large quantities of alcohol. She had an inexplicable urge to get up and explore the Opera house. A thrill went through her. Who would know? And why not? Sleep would not come, and that was almost a blessing. For with sleep would come nightmares, and she would wake up in the morning feeling as if she had never slept.

She carefully climbed down the ladder, her bare feet making soft rasping noises. She wore a large nightgown that had been loaned to her by Mme. Giry. The ballet mistress knew of her poverty, and kindly had loaned it to her. How the petite woman had gotten such a large nightgown, Noelle would never know.

She walked across the room. No one stirred, all deep in sleep. She looked back once more before she opened the large door and went through, closing it softly. A brief flitter of a smile that did not reach her eyes crossed her face. Then she was gone, out into the hallway.

She held a candle in her hand. Her eyes were focused, even though she did not know what she was doing.

She walked along stepping determinedly as if in a trance towards an unknown destination. She stopped, in front of a door. She hesitated, not sure if she should open it. A flicker of doubt crossed her eyes, but then it faded, and she opened the small, wooden oak door.

It was a chapel. It was dark, with no candles being lit. Noelle set hers on the floor and knelt on her knees. But before she could begin her prayers, a voice boomed out. It was a loud tenor, seeming amplified;

"You have come here, my child."

Noelle looked around fearfully. She bit her lower lip, hard, and told herself to keep calm.

"Who is there?"

The answer came. "It is I. That was a superb audition, my dear."

She forced the tension in her shoulders down. There was a bit of humor in the situation, she realized. She was parleying words with a voice in her head. Of all the things she was, she did not realize she was crazy.

"Why thank you," she said her voice light in banter. "I think I did alright myself."

The voice came back, with perhaps a little bit of... surprise? "Yes. There is definitely room for improvement, though. You see, I plan to make you great, darling. You have just the voice I need."

She nodded sarcastically. "Is that so? I, a rat of Paris, with little more possessions then the clothes on my back, are to be made into a great performer? Why, I suppose I shall take Carlotta's place as the chief soprano on the stage."

The voice ignored her skepticism. "Why, my dear, indeed you shall. In time, though, in time."

Fear came back. There was something evil about the voice, an inlaid danger about it. It was intimidating and patronizing her at the same time.

"Well, I must be going now to get some sleep, if you wish me to sing at all tomorrow. ." She kept her voice light, but it trembled a little bit with dread.

A form stepped out of the shadows. She gasped, all the stories she had heard about the Phantom of the Opera coming back to haunt her. The first thing she noticed was the mask. It covered up half of his face, from his hairline to right below his lip. It was white, almost garishly so. In contrast, he wore black formal-wear, with a long, pitch-black cape behind him. She turned to his face, then noticing it. It was handsome, almost unbelievably so. He had high cheekbones, and a strong shin. His nose was strong, but not overly so. His green eyes pierced hers and almost sent her reeling back from him. His hair was soft and chestnut-colored. In short, her was both the most handsome and strange man she had ever seen.

He noticed her fear and laughed. It was a soft sound, gentle and harsh at the same time. She noticed it and began to frantically look around the small chapel for a weapon. She found none. Noelle began to flash back to that night, the night her world came crashing down.

She was wearing a green dress, tight on her hips and very provocative. She had been drunk that night, from too much red, sweet wine. She had laughed and bid all her friends goodbye. That was when she had noticed Michael, who was standing in the shadows where the street lamps did not reach. It was deserted around them. She had remembered shamelessly flirting with him, as she had with all the other men at the party. She did that every night.

He was handsome, dark and mysterious, if a little withdrawn. Perhaps tonight would be the night, she thought. She was still a virgin, but... that could and would eventually change. She could not stay 'pure' as her mother kept telling her. She had smiled at him then, a bright, lusty smile that promised nothing, but offered much. He had walked forward, staring at her. A small bubble of laughter escaped her lips, then slowly faded as she saw the look in his eyes. Something was not right.

She shuddered at the memory of that night. Noelle slowly backed away from the masked man, who stood, and odd look on his face. He did not follow her, and hope began to swell. Perhaps he did not mean to harm her at all.

"Why so frightened, ma cherie?" he asked, his voice gentle. It was a beautiful voice, and Noelle recognized it as the one that had spoken to her earlier. It was kind and unthreatening.

She asked, her voice husky with suppressed fear, "Do you mean to harm me?"

He shook his head gently. "No. It would be very foolish of me to hurt my Opera's new rising star."

She relaxed a fraction. "I have not even gotten into the chorus yet, monsieur. Perhaps you have mistook me for someone else..." The words died on her lips as he moved closer to her she closed her eyes, in wonder. He whispered softly in her ear,

"I make no mistakes, Noelle de Chanter. Remember that. Remember that I have chosen you, and that I choose wisely." His lips moved softly. She somehow felt no fear, only a hotness that spread across her face and a strange, pulsing feeling.

She dared not to open her eyes after his lips left her ear. She waited a few seconds longer, then opened them. He was gone, no explanation given. Of course, there would be none if he was who she suspected he was.

Noelle let out a long, shuddering breath. These were crazy thoughts, she told herself. There was no 'Phantom of the Opera." It was most likely a myth, a ridiculous tale that one of the dancers had made up in boredom. She had simply seen shadows before, and she was hallucinating now from lack of sleep. But a nagging feeling persisted and refused to go away as she stared out into the hallway from the now-open door. She sighed, picked up her candle and walked back to her dormitory. She was tired now, almost dazed. She doubted that she would remember any of this in the morning.


Erik watched her. She had come to him, gradually, into the darkened chapel. He had thought hat this was a suitable place to introduce himself to her. He had not said anything for a little bit, content to simply watch her. She wore a large (too large) white nightgown, without frills. It did not suit her, and looked as if it was borrowed. As she knelt, the phantom decided that now was the time to make his move.

"My child, you have come to me." It was a cryptic statement that probably made no sense to her. She opened her eyes, and he saw fear in them. She bit down on her lower lip, and the fear disappeared. Nice control, he thought.

"Why thank you," She said, with amusement. "I thought I did alright myself." Amusement, he thought! She came here, she heard voices, and she was amused. Noelle must be made of something special, he realized softly.

"Yes. There is definitely room for improvement, though. You see, I plan to make you great, darling. You have just the voice I need." He said these words, uncertain of the effect they would have on her, hoping that she would not be difficult.

Noelle nodded sarcastically. "Is that so? I, a rat of Paris, with little more possessions then the clothes on my back, are to be made into a great performer? Why, I suppose I shall take Carlotta's place as the chief soprano on the stage."

Erik smiled, realizing that she did not know the truth of the words she spoke. "Why, my dear, indeed you shall. In time, though, in time."

He saw fear enter her eyes. It was masked well, but it was still there. A strange tenderness entered Erik's heart. He did not want her to be afraid, just obedient. Somehow, he did not think that he would enjoy the look of fear that would enter her every time he talked to her. He would not feel triumphant when she quickly darted about the halls, terror showing in her very movement.

"Well, I must be going now to get some sleep, if you wish me to sing at all tomorrow..." Noelle's light, yet husky soprano trailed off. He realized that she was going to leave now. No! He could not leave things like this between them. He stepped out of the shadows in which he had been standing, shadows where she otherwise would have never seen him.

Noelle looked him up and down, and he could see in her eyes the stories that had been passed down throughout the Opera house, about the Phantom. He laughed, a sound of genuine mirth, with gentle chiding and harshness inside of it.

He saw blank, flat terror in her gaze then. Her eyes hazed over with fear, and with memory, he saw. She looked around frantically for something to hide behind, perhaps, or even to defend herself. She found nothing, and backed away from him, the look of a frightened animal that has just been startled.

Something inside of him rebelled. It was not supposed to be like this. She was not supposed to fell unsafe, just... careful of him.

"Why so frightened, ma cherie?" Erik asked gently. He was trying to calm her, to reassure her. He carefully did not move from the spot he was standing in.

She asked, all masks gone from her face, not even attempting to hide her fear, "Do you mean to harm me?"

He shook his head, reassuring her. "No. It would be very foolish to hurt my Opera's new rising star, now wouldn't it." He was reminding her that he was still dangerous, even though he would not hurt her.

"I have not even gotten into the chorus yet, monsieur. Perhaps you have mistook me for someone else..." She relaxed a little bit, feeling more comfortable. He laughed inwardly at her foolishness as he walked forward and watched Noelle close her eyes.

He whispered gently in her ear with just enough sweetness and bitterness, "I make no mistakes, Noelle de Chanter. Remember that. Remember that I have chosen you, and that I choose wisely."

His throat caught awkwardly when he said the last part. Why was this happening to him? He wondered in frustration, as he left, not looking back. His throat had not caught like that since his teenage years, when his voice had caught. What was it about her, he wondered for the second time that day. She did things to Erik. He had felt his heart-rate accelerate as he had whispered the words into her ear, past her soft, angelic blonde hair.

He walked all the way back to his chamber, where he sat down on the organ and began to furiously compose music. He was writing the part in which Don Juan and his Amoureux were speaking of their blunt and blatant passion. He wrote furiously even as he played the notes on the organ. He finally slowed down, realizing that he was tired and hungry. Erik sighed. Sometimes he hated the needs of the body. He looked at the several sheets of music he had written, smiling. He felt a sense of accomplishment. He looked over the music and decided that he would name it "Point of No Return."

He decided to eat, and then sleep for a couple of hours. Erik had discovered that he needed very little sleep to function. Before that, Noelle's angelic face appeared before his closed eyes. The fear she had looked at him with, and the look on her face when he had whispered in her ear... He shook his head. There was no love, even admiration there. He was tired and he was imagining things. He decided to go to sleep then, and he knew in that instant that his dreams would be filled with her, and only her.