Author's Note: I just watched the Robert Englund version of Phantom last night and discovered this little story welling up inside me, that just couldn't be contained. The Robert Englund version is somewhat of a guilty pleasure, because every other part of it is rather on the abysmal side... but at the same time, Robert Englund himself is amazing in it! In the words of Ayezur from www. phantomfans. net, "... Is he the most heart-wrenching, wonderfully sexy, magnificently insane man I've seen in a long, long time? Oh my, yes. Yes, he is. ... Robert Englund as the Phantom doesn't steal the show. He seduces it and makes sweet, sweet love to it all night long until he is its unquestioned lord and master. He inhabits the Phantom..." She's right; I couldn't agree more.

He owns that film, dominates every scene that he's in, and is nothing short of bloody marvellous... pun intended. He even did all his own organ and violin playing. And I just felt so bad for his character, during the "Faust" scene when it flashed back to his selling his soul so that his music would survive. This fic is based on the characterization during, and just prior to, his selling-his-soul scene (so don't be expecting grisly murders, or even a lot of edginess here, 'cause you won't find it and I don't want you to be disappointed). He seemed so sweet in that scene, so innocent, that I wanted to give the poor chap a happier ending. Here it is.

Breaking the Curse

Chapter 1: A Visitation

Christine Day nodded to the street violinist and continued down the street. He played well, and even after the recent horror of her experience with Erik Destler, she maintained a soft spot in her heart for a well-played violin.

Suddenly the melody changed, and she faltered, stumbling a little. That bridge, that high, soaring single note, it sounded almost like the opening to Don Juan Triumphant.

Then the melody continued and she froze, not daring to look back at him. It was his song, his music. Even as her heart hammered in her throat, her mind clinically supplied the words, "…there's so much you could come to love…"

Christine turned back to the violinist who now stood in the centre of the street, ignored by passers-by, playing for her ears alone. His head was tipped down over his instrument, his face obscured by the wide brim of his hat.

How could he still be alive? She had killed him twice over, and destroyed his music as well. She could walk away now, and he would continue to haunt her—whether in truth, or only in her mind—for the rest of her life. Or she could take the infinitely more dreadful and terrifying option, and go back to confront him.

Fear marking her every step, she turned around. Her heart felt like a dead weight in her chest, she was so filled with dread. Her feet felt leaded; she lifted first one, then the other, setting them down marginally closer to the violinist each time, and had to work so hard to do it that she was perspiring.

Then the violinist lifted his head to meet her gaze, and her blood ran cold.

It was he.

He went on playing, stepping casually over his violin case, taking one step towards her and then another. She stopped dead, filled with apprehension, as he got closer to her.

And then, inexplicably, he stopped. He drew out the final note of the song, longer and longer until Christine felt like screaming with the exquisite tension of it, and then, abruptly, he stopped.

He lowered the violin and the bow, took off his hat, and bowed to her.

It was a nice bow, natural and well-executed, and for just an instant Christine flashed back to her time in Victorian London, where gentlemen bowed like that all the time. She had to stop her natural reflex to curtsey in return. It would have looked ridiculous in a miniskirt anyway.

Then he turned on his heel, returned to his spot, and knelt to put away his violin. He handled it lovingly, caressing the rich, dark wood of its neck. Christine swallowed, uncomfortably reminded of the sensation of those gentle hands on her sensitive, heated flesh the night he had claimed her as his bride. She took one step closer.

And then the violinist picked up his case and walked away into the crowd.