Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. None of it. Gaston Leroux is the rightful owner. I do own my OC, though.
Note! This is based on the original book "The Phantom of the Opera", not the play or movie, which have different stories.
Second Note! This whole thing also happens before the events involving Christine and Raoul and all that.
"So now the ghost is married!": Chapter Two
"Erik." He said it so quietly. His voice was filled with a sadness I had not heard from him before. I opened my mouth to speak, but could not find words to say. I felt that I should introduce myself as well, but I did not know my name. Just as I was realising that I had nothing to say, Erik turned back towards the door where he had entered. I did not see him turn off the gas lights that lined the walls, but the room was suddenly plunged back into darkness. Just before the sliver of light that was the open door disappeared, I heard Erik say softly to me:
"Sleep now, you are tired."
I had had no intention of going back to sleep; I had far too much to think about, but as he spoke the words I felt my eyelids grow heavy. Soon I had slipped back into a dreamless sleep.
When I next awoke, I was determined to get out of bed. I had no idea how long I had been sleeping, but I felt that I had spent quite enough time lying still. I sat up quickly, then wished that I had not. My head began to ache and the room spun. I pressed my fingers against my temples and waited for the pain to subside. Once I could see straight again, I lifted the blankets off of myself and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
Pushing myself off the bed, I forced myself into a standing position. With my hands stretched out in front of me in the darkness, I felt my way over to where I remembered the door to be. I reached out for the handle and it gave easily. The door swung open to reveal a dimly lighted hallway. There was one door at the end of this, to which I made my way out of curiosity.
Upon reaching this door, I found that it was slightly ajar, and through it was coming a ghostly sort of music. I pushed the door open and crossed into a sort of living room, furnished with waxed mahogany chairs, an ornate mantelpiece over an empty fireplace, and dark hangings and tapestries on the walls. As I approached the center of the room, the music became louder. As I listened I was filled with a dreadful sort of sadness.
Captivated by the mournful tune, I began to search for its origin. The music seemed to be coming from behind yet another door at the far end of the room.
I crept slowly toward the door, determined to find the source of such hauntingly beautiful music. When I reached the door I carefully unhooked the latch. This door was more reluctant to open than the others, but I continued to try. The door finally swung open with a loud groan. Abruptly, the music ceased. I had just enough time to catch a glimpse of a room with black hangings all around and a canopy of red curtains before Erik leaped before me.
He gripped me tightly on the shoulders and my breath caught in my throat. His hands were colder than they rightly should have been, and his skin felt thin and waxy, like that of a corpse. With more strength than someone as cadaverous as him should have had, Erik forced me out of the doorway.
"Never, never, enter that room..." he was saying. "Never listen to that music... to my Don Juan. That is not for you to hear... not for any mortal soul to hear. There is some music, yes some music, that is so terrible that it consumes all those who approach it! I will play you music that will only make you weep, but I will never let you hear my Don Juan."
As he spoke his fury weakened and changed to sadness, remorse. I was shaking my head, whispering 'No, not your Don Juan,' for Erik's voice and words made me certain that I did not want ever to hear any more of his Don Juan.
"Yes," he continued, "I will play for you Mozart... do you remember the first act of Idomeneo? No, no, you do not... of course you do not... I will play for you and you will learn. You... you will love Idomeneo."
Erik's words now confused and frightened me, but I did not want to argue with him. I wanted to keep his mind off of Don Juan and onto other things.
And so he played on his pipe organ for me. For hours he played, and he told me what to sing, and I sang. I sang until my head began to feel light and I nearly collapsed to the ground with dizziness. When Erik saw this, he stood from his organ.
"I am sorry," he said. "We will continue tomorrow." Then he held me around the waist and helped me back to my room where he laid me down on the bed. Erik had barely closed the door before I fell into a deep sleep.