Author's note:Here's the chapter I promised you, people. Enjoy.

Broadwaygal: The story will be a solid 20 chapters at least, I'll cover the turning points from the movie, and add some more chapters after the original ending.It will mostly depend on the feedback I get from my readers. :)

Kates: Thank you very much indeed. -bows humbly- I'm glad you like it. :)


"Love takes of masks that we fear we cannot live without, and know we cannot live within.

-James Baldwin

"Beauty deprived of its proper foils and adjuncts ceases to be enjoyed as beauty, just as light deprived of all shadows ceases to be enjoyed as light."

-John Ruskin

"The quality of mercy and absolution

Whence cometh these qualities?

Build thyself a mirror in which

Solely the wanton images of thy desire appear!"

-Theatre of Tragedy


The Stygian shore was not barren and frigid, but warm and inviting with an abundance of bone ivory candles' lambent flame entwined with a legion of shadows twisting in an unholy liaison.

Exactly as Christine remembered from the night before.

Her Dark Virtuoso was a formidable sight in his blacks and maroons.

His looming shadow appeared beside her, his voice infiltrating her mind once again.

Christine, a dreamy smile touching her lips, gazed across at the lake; its waters silver against the night of his domain.

His music was slow, sensual, a sable invocation to dreams Christine had come to crave, like a fervent addict each night, with a growing yearning she couldn't admit to even herself.

As his voice rose, Christine vaguely realized the song was in a foreign tongue, but her soul understood its secret language, bowed and swayed in utter worship, lost in its sweet trance.

The lake water rippled by a breeze of Midsummer's Eve, the waters now transparent as she looked, the shifting, murky depths lit from within and a scenery emerged.

The lush, primordial garden from before, fragranced with exotic flowers and a faint salty sea breeze, a coral sunset slowly sinking into the night sky's purplish dark embrace.

This time, on a mountain summit, the night in the Garden of Eden was warm, beautiful, desolate and wild.

Snow white wolves appeared from the forest to greet their queen.

Engrossed in his song, Christine walked through a grove of fig and pomegranate trees, then, passed under a high archway decorated with ivies and jasmine.

Climbing low steps of smooth marble, the hem of her dress trailed behind her with a hushed silken sound.

Her dress…

She was garbed in an exquisite, timelessly elegant dress of black silk, lined with delicate black lace and adorned with ebony pearls. A tiara of crimson flowers was placed upon her head, its sheer gauzy black veil soft and fine as cobweb, cascading down her autumn brown curls.

What appeared to be a mourning gown at first, was a daunting revelation.

It was a black wedding dress.

Her hands carrying a bouquet of carmine flowers and blood-blossoms, Christine ascended the last step into a high vaulted temple; its marble walls covered with exquisite murals.

The phantasmal voice heightened, flowing through her essence…almost like a hallowed Gregorian chant, enfolding her senses in pure bliss, casting away all fears.

She approached a red-veined black marble altar surrounded by musk-scented candles, and stood before it, raising the wine coloured flowers to her nose and taking a long, deep breath.

Awaiting.

Like Lilith deified in a virgin shrine, anticipating the arrival of her sovereign.

The thanaterous serenade reached its zenith, pulsing deep inside her with a sepulchral echo, and finally faded.

Christine was breathless, her heart beating with a thunderous rhythm.

Her ruby lips quivered, her whole body sensitized, aching and throbbing with the after dark of Erik's music. A honeyed warmth gathered in her stomach, spreading lower…and melted in her very core.

The sensation was extraordinary…Yet, somehow it felt incomplete, lacking…

Her mind was completely satisfied.

Yet her body ached, begging for a different kind of release, a forbidden euphoria.

Christine's senses reeled…what had just happened seemed to be only the beginning, a taunting taste of what could have been, what could be… if only…

Dark lashes wet with tears of rapture, the sweet delirium of the melody still resonant within her mind, her eyes opened, shimmering into those of alluring steel grey.

Boldly so…Intimately so.

His face brought close hers, only an inch apart.

He laid his palm on her cheek, his thumb traced along her perfect jaw line with a tantalizing softness.

His hand gently turned her face to a velvet curtain, and he pulled it aside.

What lay behind was unreality.

Christine gaped in stunned silence. Disbelieving eyes taking in the image surrounded by mirrors, a young, pale cheeked, dark haired, pretty girl of seventeen stared back at her, dressed in the exact replica of the wedding gown she had just dreamed.

But the doppelganger wore white, not black.

Impossible…it had been an illusion, a Phantasy.

Christine's knees gave way, her senses fogged, paradise slipped into oblivion…


Erik caught Christine in his arms as she fell unconscious before the mannequin, her body was so soft, so warm.

He wondered at what she saw, what she felt when he sang to her, alas, he could not tell.

He carried her into his bed chamber and lowered her onto the swan bed, watching her curls spill across the pillows, her breast rising and falling with each quiet breathing.

Her flawless complexion was slightly rosy, her heart-shaped face calm.

How could any human being look so virtuous in her innocent desire?

Of course, Christine knew nothing of lust.

How many nights had he envisaged her like this, an unspoken benediction?

Erik was filled with a sense of self-loathing so profound it threatened to break through the mortal coil, chains of guilt lashing against his tarnished conscience.

He had to bring her down here again, ensure her obedience.

For a new threat had arisen, in the form of a young, handsome champion of her childhood faerytales; the Vicomte de Chagny.

Bitter embers of hatred and jealousy set his senses aflame.

This nuisance had to be dealt with quietly, swiftly and surely.


The awakening was a soft music, and a whisper of scarlet sheets, made from the softest material.

Christine sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes and running her hand through the tangled mass of her curls.

Hazily, she looked at the direction of the little chiming melody.

A music-box in the shape of a barrel organ, a curious monkey sitting on top of it, its little hands tiny cymbals came together rhythmically to produce a trilling music, its tune unfamiliar to Christine.

Rising from the bed, she descended on a stone staircase down into the outer sanctum, her arms hung limp at her sides, lips pursed, eyes bright and clear, no more possessed by the sinister charm of his glorious music.

He was seated at the pipe-organ, scribbling on a piece of faded parchment.

Christine moved quietly out of habit.

He turned instinctively, dropping the quill pen and slipping the paper in red leather bound folder.

The black cape and the waistcoat were shed, leaving him in his charcoal trousers and a simple shirt of white linen, opened at the front, his sleekly muscled chest bared.

Her eyes took their fill of his enigmatic beauty.

"Did I mention, Christine, your performance last night was breathtaking?" Spoke Erik, the visible side of his face graced with an unsmiling, but approving expression.

Christine bowed to this, beaming with pleasure at his appraisal.

"I have no doubt your new career as a soprano should progress smoothly, especially with Carlotta out of the picture."

Christine remained silent.

"It all depends on you, however." Drawled he.

Icy fingers of fear caressed down her spine.

"What do you mean, Erik?"

"Answer me this, Christine..."

She awaited, curiously.

"Who gave you your voice?" He demanded.

"God did." Was the immediate reply.

"And who taught you to sing?" He asked firmly.

"You did." Without a trace of hesitation.

Indeed…Erik mused in a moment's silence. Much like a dirt-streaked diamond dug from the depths of the earth, her voice had been transformed and polished into a shining, brightest jewel ever known to mankind.

"Correct. Therefore, God and I must be your true benefactors, except I would never forsake you. Since he and I are your sole guardians in this life, answer me now Christine; would you turn away from your God?"

"No." She whispered.

"Would you turn away from me?" He asked, his satin voice a diabolically soft and dangerous.

A moment's silence.

An eternity.

Christine paled, regarding him with growing apprehension.

"Erik, I don't understand…"

"I'll make it simple for you."

He stood, strolling over, his grey eyes foreboding.

"Who came to you that night, after your father died?"

That night in the chapel, he had come with the storm…

"You …did." She murmured.

"Who comforted you and guarded you all these years when you were denied of sleep, when your pain became too unbearable?"

"You, Erik."

A slight nod of satisfaction.

"It appears to me, my dear, you owe me." Steely sharp voice, yet so soft.

She blinked in disbelief, appalled. Her musical enlightenment she regarded as a blessing from an angel.

Did angels demand payment for their blessings?

"Be at ease. All I ask of you is your loyalty."

His voice was laden with passion, his eyes a smoky grey as he whispered.

"Only you can sing the music I write. Only you, Christine."

You alone can make my song take flight…

"You said loyalty…"

His eyes were hardened, all knowing.

"It is something you should consider seriously, my dear. Your loyalty lies here, with music. With me. The vicomte will provide a temporary distraction at best, and an untimely demise of your career at worst. Therefore, I forbid any further involvement with him, or anyone else for that matter."

"But he's a dear friend! How can you ask of me to cast him aside without reason."

How could Gustav have asked me to be your angel…He should have seen this coming.

"I can give you many reasons, Christine."

She nodded.

But first, she had to know.

She had to see.

Small hands raised to his face lovingly, the way he deeply responded to her touch nearly broke her resolve.

Now her hand glided over the edges of the white leather mask, fingers crept underneath, lifting the mask off his face.

Paradiso plunged into Inferno.

With an enraged howl, Erik ran to the mirrors around the lair and tore off the velvet drapes. One by one.

"Damn you!" He snarled at the abomination in the mirrors.

Swiftly, he turned to her.

"Here's the reward for your treachery, Christine, my lying little viper." A spiteful hiss.

"Are you satisfied, my prying Pandora?" An anguished growl.

"Tell me, is this what you wanted to see, my Delilah? Are you now satisfied!"

No longer wrapped in his music, instead, she was sanctified by his quiet aggression that was electrifying, suffocating.

Christine, surrounded by a hundred reflections of him, collapsed to the ground with a sob.

She did not utter a single word, her eyes fixed on his face.

His face…

Half dream, half nightmare.

An anathema.

A warped mass of rotting flesh and twisted bone, coalesced hideously together in perfect grotesquery to create a visage that even demons would shudder at the sight, and angels would weep and turn away in disgust.

Christine trembled. This abhorrence was not his doing.

Flesh and bone, would turn to dust one day.

But his music…that sweet, divine music would live on, conquer time and time again the ages.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she wondered…Why had God denied him the principle of beauty in its rightful integrity?

"Yes, look at me, Christine. Aren't we all made in God's image indeed?" A hollow, twisted sneer.

With a courage born of her remorse, Christine staggered to her feet, step by cautious step approaching him.

Her smile was aurora, shining through the bleeding darkness.

Shaky fingers raised the mask slowly to his face, over the deformed, abominable right side.

His hand closed over hers, fitting the mask expertly in place.

Spoke the fallen idol in the blackest shade of anger, eternally soft, but deathly chill; his words sealing the breach and the bond between them.

"You will sing for me."