Author's Note: This story is based upon the Andrew Lloyd Webber play, the adaptation of the movie musical and the book by Gaston Leroux. I've taken choice bits and pieces and fitted them together. I shall add things of my own imagination, so please do not flame me because I've changed some things around. Thank you!

Summary: The complete story of the Phantom and Christine...from birth till the scene beneath the Opera house. The story of how their lives finally came to intertwine. Told from many different views.

Rating: Rated M just to stay on the safe side. The rating will be mostly for violence in later chapters and some sexual situations later on as well.

1838

As the final cry of pain split the air of the room, the sweat soaked woman fell back against the sheets, gasping for breath. The wailing of the baby took over, and she felt that sweet thrill rush through her, filling her heart with sheer joy. Her baby...finally. Months of caressing her swollen belly, cooing to the child within, praying so hard for it to be healthy...

Waiting but a moment for some strength to come back to her limbs, she raised her head, her lips broken apart in an exhasted smile, her voice barely a whisper. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

The midwife held the bundle close to her bosom, her doe-like eyes further widened as she gazed down upon the child. The mother shifted, reached a trembling arm out towards the twitching blankets. "A boy," the midwife said, and for the first time, the mother saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her hand dropped to her side, fear pushing through her as she sat up completely. Her husband gripped her shoulder, rising from his place by her side, one hand coming up to twist at his mustache. "What is the matter?" he demanded. "Let me see my son..." His voice trailed off, and she watched the blood drain from his features.

She did not know why, but she began to cry, shifting herself back against the pillows, a great sob leaving her as she raised her hands in desperation towards them. "What is it? What is wrong? My baby..."

Her husband raised his eyes from the swaddled baby, his lips twitching as he tried to find words. "He...he...oh God," he murmured, turning from the midwife, his large hands coming up to cover his face.

"What?" she shrieked, attempting to move from the bed, but her limbs were too weak, and finally the midwife moved, glancing at the trembling, hunched form of the father. The midwife moved around the edge of the bed, bending forward to place the baby in her arms.

A part of the blanket had been pulled up to cover the right side of his face, and for the moment all she could see was the moist, pink flesh of his left side. Soft, still slick with blood and mucus, she could feel her fears calming. Nothing was wrong...he was healthy. For the first time, she understood that her husband was weeping at how beautiful he was! She always knew he was such a child in ways...she smiled, reaching up to gently push back the blanket.

The midwife hissed in her breath, but the blanket was pushed away, revealing the baby's full feature. The mother began to gasp in breaths, her calm crashing away from her. He was deformed...

Thick red scarring raced down over his face, starting from beyond his hairline and moving down to his chin. The flesh beneath his eye sagged, pulling down to show the sensative flesh behind the lower lid. A ridge ran across his cheek, raised and creased, making his face seem misshapen. A fine down of hair covered his head, except for the right side, where only the scarring was, canyoned and hard to the touch.

She screamed, she knew no other way to voice her emotion. She set the squirming bundle away from her, towards the foot of the bed, crawling back with new found strength. "Dear God, what has happened to him!"

The midwife rung her hands until they were sore, shaking her head. "I...I do not know, madame...something in the womb..."

Her husband turned, his face blotched from his tears, his lips shivering with his breaths. "Cursed...the hand of Satan has touched him," he seethed, before pointing at his wife. "You did something for it...you brought this upon yourself."

Her jaw dropped open, staring at him with mute horror before he stormed from the room. Silence followed as both woman set their eyes upon the baby. He stretched his arms and legs, pushing open the blankets, exposing himself to the chill of the evening air. His features screwed up, a whimper escaping, but neither rushed forward to cover him again, they only watched as he began to cry.

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She swirled the amber liquid within her glass, holding it up to the firelight as beside her, in his cradle, the baby began to cry. She had yet to name him, though he was well over two weeks old, but revulsion stayed her each time she made to gaze upon him, to attempt to feel some form of love. She saw the cradle shake as he began to kick, then she swallowed back the whiskey, clenching her jaw as the heat raced downwards.

God had punished her...had seen her make some folly during her pregnancy, and now she was cursed with...this. She lolled her head to the side, gazing down upon him. If she left him, perhaps God would be merciful and take him quickly...surely He would not condemn her for ending such a pitiful life.

The baby turned to look up at her, his blue irises like liquid behind the tears. His cherub lips trembled, his tiny hands opening and closing uselessly at his sides. Perhaps...if she could cover the scarring...she raised her hand, holding it out before her and closing one eye as she pretended to cover one side of his face. Yes...there was her beautiful baby boy. All soft and heaven like. A thought came to her mind, and she lowered her hand, smiling softly as she rose, leaning down to swaddle him once again, taking care to make the blanket cover his right side.

Author's Note: Please review! They make me happy and keep me writing:shakes a collection tin infront of her: Please?