Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters connected with it. I might be able to say I own the basic scenario, but DJ and Jenna from the message board might contest that, so I won't. This is simply a biproduct of my rather weird mind.

This story is based off the movie, but it has (or is going to have) some Leroux influence, like the managers names and all that good stuff. No Persian, though, at least not yet. But Daroga might show up later.

Erik is played by his wonderful hotness, Gerry Butler. The Phantom for all intensive purposes is also around the age of 27. I personally thought it was kind of weird for Erik to go after a girl sooo younger than him, so i decided to change it.

Raoul-liking is frowned upon, unless your name is Meg Giry. She's allowed to like him. And there will be some Raoul-bashing, don't say I didn't warn you! But most of it is done by Erik or possibly Christine, though I like to poke fun at him too. evil grin

This is my first fic, please be merciful in your reviews! But please, more than that, REVIEW! I need support and Kodu, if you ever show up on here, you have first dibs on being my beta.

Twisted Every Way

"Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair. Down we plunge toward the prison of my mind. Down that path into darkness deep as Hell!

"Why, you ask, was I bound and chained to this cold and dismal place? Not for any mortal sin, but for the wickedness of my abhorrent face!"

Christine glanced furtively behind her as Erik roughly pulled her along, hoping and praying no one was following them. "Erik, let go, you're hurting me!"

He loosened his grip on her wrist, realizing the stress of the past few moments had made him overly forceful in his hold, but still continued his swift pace.

"Hounded out by everyone, met with hatred everywhere, no kind word from anyone, no compassion anywhere. Christine…Christine…why? WHY?"

Erik held her in front of him and looked into her eyes, his own pleading for love, or even simply the acceptance he had been denied for so long. As he stood there, his shoulders shook with all the pain he had been forced to endure, and his eyes glistened with the unshed tears from the past, the present, and the thought of what his future could be.

"Oh, Erik…" Christine hated seeing the pain in his eyes, the needless suffering. "Erik…"

XXXXX

As Raoul made his way down the stone spiral staircase, he managed to do anything but keep his hand at eye-level. He was too distracted; what that man--no, demon! -- might do to his beloved consumed his mind. Swirling thoughts of what might be happening even as he descended, plots to kill the Phantom, and ways to free Christine clouded his thinking so much that he didn't notice a rather large trap door below his feet until it was far too late. He suddenly plunged into a tank of icy water, complete with a steadily descending grate that foretold the demise of any who had the misfortune to see the underside of it.

Frantically, Raoul looked around, trying to find a way out. The door in the side of the wall was much too obvious, it wouldn't do at all. As the grate came only feet above him, he dove under and swam to a wheel that controlled the trap. His desperation mounted as the grate closed in, now mere inches from the water. As Raoul felt himself running out of air and life, Christine's face flashed before his eyes, and his resolve returned. With this, strength surged into his arms and he gave the wheel a final, desperate shove. The trap reversed itself and Raoul climbed out using the handy door in the side of the wall, exhausted but anxious to find his betrothed.

XXXXX

As Christine finished changing she straightened the dress hoping its beauty would make up for her tramp-like appearance. She had changed into it, relieved to get out of the way-too-tight Don Juan costume, especially since the costume had gotten wet. Then she turned back to the mirror, looking at her face. "Oh why couldn't I have kept those tears in? Erik would never think that they were for his own suffering rather for my loathing of his face. That infernal self-image of his!" she thought wryly. Slowly she came out of the bedroom.

Erik gasped inwardly when Christine came out in the wedding gown he had bought for her. How could a girl with a tearstained, dirty face and messy hair look so captivating? His heart turned cold. "Tears from the thought of a life with me rather than with that handsome de Chagny," Erik thought bitterly. "Am I really so cadaverous that she weeps at the thought of seeing me?"

Christine looked up at Erik hopefully. "Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood?" Would he ever stop killing?

Unfortunately, her words came out with a bite in them, and Erik took offense. Words laced liberally with cynicism, he shot back, "This face which condemns me to wallow in blood had also denied me the joys of the flesh. My face, the infection which poisons our love. This face, which earned a mothers fear and loathing. A mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing. Pity comes too late, turn around and face your fate, and eternity of this before your eyes!" Hatefully he pointed to his distorted face. Why must he always be rejected?

Christine bit her lip. That wasn't how she meant to say it at all! "Tone, you idiot, tone!" she chastised herself. Now Erik was filled with more self-loathing than ever, and she had hurt him beyond hope of recovery. She looked him in the eye, conveying her silent apology.

Erik inwardly berated himself for snapping so terribly at her when he saw the look of sadness written on her face. Why must he always be so harsh? He caught Christine's glance, his eyes pleading for her forgiveness.

Reconciliation drifted around like smoke; present, but barely tangible. In the silence, the two nearly spoke. But then a yell sounded just outside the portcullis.

So tell me. Love it, hate it, want to punjab me? Noooooo...! Please review!