Her Story by tactics

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Chapter 3

As my eyes fluttered open, a soft tinkling tune met my ears. I noticed that I was lying in a luxurious bed that was covered in a black gauzy curtain. Through the curtain I could see a musical box playing on the bedside table. It was no ordinary music box however – an intricately designed figurine of a monkey dressed in Persian robes was playing a pair of tiny cymbals in time to the tinkling tune. Its empty brown eyes seemed to smile at me.

I pulled the silken rope that pulled up the sheer curtain. I walked out of the doorway, still disoriented. Was the mysterious encounter with my Angel, the Phantom, Erik, all an illusion…? I remembered his glorious serenade and seductive movements. I glanced around the place he called home – it had been real. He was sitting at his golden organ, possibly composing.

He must have noticed my presence s he turned and glanced at me. His brilliant blue eyes were just as breathtaking as I remembered… He turned away again with a small smile adorning his features. I continued to look at him, wondering why he hid half his face in white porcelain. My curiosity grew with each tentative step I took towards him.

I stood beside him and hesitantly caressed his cheek with a bare hand. He leant his face into my touch and what seemed like a purr escaped him.

My curiosity took control of my body – I carefully lifted the porcelain that that has kept his face prison for so long.

What happened next seemed almost unreal – Erik, who was usually a man of confidence and control, flew into a blinding rage! He hurled angry curses at me, and the voice I so loved was tainted in bitter anger and self-hatred. His hand covered the spot that was originally covered by the mask that I had removed so carelessly.

He stormed away; leaving me sprawled in shock on the floor. He knocked over a candelabra and his hand reached out to tug off the cloth that was covering on of his mirrors in a single fluid movement.

"Is this what you wanted to see!" He demanded as he momentarily revealed his face in the mirror.

What I saw in his reflection nothing short of astounded me. The right side of his face consisted of a series of scars and burns – like most of the flesh had been charred away. There were random bumps of flesh as well. It was in a word, grotesque. It contradicted the perfectly handsome features that adorned the left side of his face so much!

He put his hand over his scarred features again, and sang to me his soul – the pain it had to endure and the pure, utter contempt he felt for himself. It made my heart wrench in sympathy and something more for my fallen Angel.

"Stranger than you dreamt it

Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me?

This loathsome gargoyle that burns in hell

But secretly yearns for heaven – secretly, secretly…

Oh, Christine…

Fear can turn to love

You'll learn to see to find the man behind the monster

This repulsive carcass that seems a beast

But secretly dreams of beauty, secretly… secretly…"

"Christine…" he murmured miserably. I made my way to him, knowing that my feelings for this man had already gone past that initial childish infatuation I have had for him when he first brought me here.

I had seen his face, his surreal visage, and he said that I could never be free. I wasn't sure that I wanted to be.

Tears blurred my vision as I handed him his mask back. He turned away from me, ashamed, as he replaced it onto his face. His emotions seemed to be hidden once more as soon as the white porcelain concealed the horror beneath – he curtly turned to me and said monotonously, "Come, we must return. Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you."

I could only nod. He hesitantly extended a slender hand to me, and I gratefully accepted. I felt him shiver at my touch. As I stood, I pondered my feelings for this man again. That mask hid more than just his face – it hid his heart, his human side, so to speak… Now that I had seen it, I knew that I felt not horror or disgust for him – only compassion and something else that I dare not name…

He helped me into his gondola again, and started to row me back to the world above once more. Our ride was silent and rather tense. I really couldn't accept much else, really…

As soon as we reached our destination, he helped me out of the boat without a word. His eyes were always diverted in any direction accept to right at my face. At the passageway right behind my dressing room mirror, I turned to him. He still hung his head, as though he felt like he was not worthy enough to be in my presence or look me in the eye.

I raised my hand to his cheek and noticed that he flinched as if he were expecting a slap. I made him look at me, and a soft gasp escaped me as I saw tears in his eyes. He murmured to me so softly, so utterly desperately I could've sworn my heart cracked – "I'm so sorry, Christine… So, so sorry…" An incredulous expression crossed my features. Whatever did he have to be ashamed of?

I ran my thumb over the planes of his well-defined cheekbone. The blue eyes that shined with tears met mine and on instinct I gave him a small, assuring smile. I whispered to him in reply, "You have nothing to be sorry for."

He looked at me as if I were insane and said, "But…" and he reached up a gloved hand to stroke his mask, and all I said was, "Like that mask, our appearances are but masks themselves. What truly matters is what lies in here… (I touched his forehead lightly with my fingers) and here…" I had put my palm flat against his chest, right where his heart is.

A moment of silence came upon us, except it wasn't as tense as before. He met my eyes willingly this time, and took my hand. He said to my cryptically in a voice barely above a whisper, "I only pray that this gargoyle will not be damned to dare to dream of beauty…" He brushed a soft kiss on the back of my hand, his eyes not leaving mine.

The kiss was brief, and as soon as his lips left my hand, all that I could hear was a swish of material and he disappeared. My racing heart would not slow as I walked through the mirror back into my dressing room.

A sigh left my lips… That was when Madame Giry and Meg came in. Madame Giry had no expression on her face – rather, it was a nonchalant one. Meg, however, was panicking completely. She took me by the shoulders and started shaking me violently demanding where I was since last night.

I had no answer. I honestly couldn't tell her something like "The Phantom of the Opera came into my room yesterday and took me to his beautiful underground home" now could I? I just said that I felt sick after my performance and fell asleep at my vanity. Meg could've sensed the lie etched into my words, but said nothing.

Instead, she took me back to our dormitories and got me to bed, as well as going to get me a glass of water. Then she left me alone with my thoughts, and of course – they drifted back to that man.

The mere thought of him sent a thrill up my spine and a soft sigh from my smiling lips.

TBC

A/n: Woo – EC scene again... It only starts to deteriorate when Raoul returns to the picture (agh agh agh.) HE IS LE FOP WITH NOTHING TO DO AND NO-ONE LOVES HIM. Sorry, passionate mode again.. But yeah – tell me what you think of it if u got time..

Note to all my reviewers, you know who you are – I love you all! Kisses and cookies 4 all ;)