(A/N: This is part one of a two part piece. Although based on the 2004 movie, we know the Phantom as Erik. Hope you enjoy!)
The time had finally presented itself, in one glorious aria that entranced and delighted an audience of cultivated upper-class snobs to the extent of a standing applause. The ethereal beauty of this miraculous voice had soared into the heart of a young Viscomte attending the opera, and revived the soul of a lonely recluse far below the stage.
Her name was Christine, and she was a humble, modest girl who did not recognise the enchantment of her own voice, anymore than she was aware of her flourishing beauty.
But men were more than aware of her graceful form, her wide eyes and wider lips. She was a child, but she was looked upon as a woman.
Pacing restlessly in a shadowy, cobweb-filled passageway, the recluse shut his eyes behind his mask and momentarily allowed himself to relax into the beauty of this heavenly voice, a voice which the musical genius himself had beckoned to life. His patient tutoring of Christine over long years had opened a door within her soul, and released a voice of exquisite beauty.
But there was a catch. A man like he could never simply tutor her face-to-face, oh no. This man barely had a face. And so the entire performance began: the girl mistakenly took his voice to be of an angel's, sent by her dead father, and the lonely man took this opportunity to return, via these lessons, to the world of the living.
It had been years, and the girl still followed her heart and placed her trust blindly in this strange angel that had come to her. But it was no angel that sang to her, listened to her tears and woes time and time again. No, it was merely a man, a man by the name of Erik, whose face was as distorted as the hearts of those who had tormented him in his early years, who had forced him to become a recluse. Forever shunned, but now embraced by this one bereaved girl, there seemed no other option for him than to play along with her fantasy, no matter how deceitful it had to be.
Too long had the lie continued. But now, finally, on this wonderful night, Erik decided that it was time. Time to reveal himself, time to meet his angel in person.
And so Erik made his way to Christine's dressing room after the opera was done, weaving his way through passageways known only to himself. He was the prince of trapdoors, the emperor of secrets and hidden mysteries. It was only to be expected from a man who hid his very face, his being, from the world.
A black cloak swept behind a wall adjacent to the dressing room. The Phantom had heard the voice of a man together with the voice of his beloved Christine. A cold, murderous jealousy narrowed his eyes and caused tremors in his long, bony fingers, tremors which he dispersed by clenching his fists tightly. Who dared to attempt to woo his fair angel? What insolent boy was this, being so bold as to approach his Christine, and distract her from her teacher? For she knew her Erik was coming for her. He came to her after every opera as a rule, to give her a critique of her performance.
Soon, but not soon enough, the man's voice left Christine's dressing room, and Erik, moving silently as only a man with his years of avoiding attention could, strolled up to the door and turned the key. His angel was going to wait for him alone.
Christine returned to tugging at her stubborn curls in consternation, annoyed by the impetuousness of her visitor. She remembered Raoul well; it was just the other day that she was whispering so much to her dear Meg. The young man was charming, and brought back sweet memories of her childhood, but he had not noticed her until he saw her centre stage.
Yet someone had noticed her, taken care of her during those heart-breaking times when she could do nothing but sob for her dear father's departed soul. The one being she could always depend on to distract her with the beautiful music her father had loved, and that she loved, was her angel. She knew very well that it was only a matter of time now before he came, as usual, to comment on the night's performance. And tonight, she knew that he was pleased with his willing pupil.
She had been waiting for quite some time now for the right moment to inquire about the true nature of her teacher's being, for a girl of sixteen had to know deep down that angels did not come down for the solitary purpose of teaching a girl to sing. And what sort of man, her mind enquired, would do so, and keep his identity secret?
Above all things, she longed to finally meet this man. It was not merely her curiosity that compelled her to do thus, either. How could she live not knowing this man who had changed her life? Before she was tutored by her angel, not only was she invisible to all but her dear Madame Giry and Meg, but she was desperately unhappy, lost without her father and his music. Somehow this strange angel had brought the joy back into her life with his ethereal music, and with it, a piece of her father's soul.
Her body was a temple to him, a sacred place of worship and quiet beauty. But her angelic face shone like the very sun, revealing all the beauty below her, while remaining the single source of light and life. She was the sun and he was a mere worm, a cowardly filthy thing to be treated with contempt, or worse, indifference. He did not deserve to be in her presence, let alone gaze at her delicate form, into her innocent eyes, touch her flowing tresses…. But no other man had that right either, and if the girl was to love a man, it should, must, be a man willing to worship her till the end of her days. And he was a man who would give his life for her without hesitation. But he must not allow her to make a mistake, to choose another man. It was time she embraced her fate. Hideous as the fate may be.
From behind the mirror, he finally made his presence known to the unaware girl brushing her hair, thinking herself alone but for her reflection.
Christine started. Although she was expecting her tutor, it was still a shock to hear his beautiful voice coming from nowhere, from no visible form. Her faith was such that she'd never attempted to find hollow spaces behind columns, mirrors perhaps… yet not such that she hadn't thoroughly explored her room before and after her angel's arrival. And it was not just the disembodiment of the voice that made butterflies appear like magic in the pit of her stomach. There was something about the voice that made her feel completely at ease, made her eyes flutter closed for a few seconds, made her involuntarily allow the sound to permeate her soul and douse her body in quiet rapture.
But the feeling of ease dissipated quite quickly on this night, as she realised that her angel was disappointed with her.
Erik shook his head, with the shadow of a smile on his lips as he listened to Christine's hurried flatterings. But it was without the vaguest hint of a smile that he prepared himself for the next step in his plan for the night. A revelation was about to be made, and not just to Christine. What would happen if the girl took one look at him and ran away, or screamed? He'd be left alone once more in his lonely hell, that's what.
The realisation that he just couldn't bare to suffer the painful solitude after how close he had become to a fellow human being served only to make the man more nervous. And the more nervous he became, the more determined he was to impress his angel, and show her a proper man, a man without fear, without doubts, without deformity….
He straightened his mask with sweaty fingers.
"Flattering child you shall know me, see why I hide in the shadows. Look at your face in the mirror: I am there, inside!"
Christine barely noted the condescending tone of her master's voice as she gazed with excitement, and infinite butterflies, the likes of which she had never felt before a performance, upon the heavily gilded mirror at the end of her dressing room. A face appeared; or rather, the shape of a face appeared, but only half the face showed. The other half was covered completely with a strange, white mask.
She stepped towards the mirror, her curiosity overcoming her sudden nervousness. When a black-gloved hand appeared in front of her, coming through the mirror as if by magic, she reached for it without hesitation and followed her master.
Christine's complete trust in him elated Erik beyond anything he'd previously experienced. She was willingly following him, though she must of course have realised who her angel must be: the elusive scapegoat of the opera house, the Phantom of the Opera. And even though the girl must have known of the supposed ill deeds that he was marked as having done, she came with him out of her own free will.
The touch of Christine's hand, even through his black glove, gave Erik a strange thrill that almost frightened him. Nothing affected Erik unless Erik willed it to; nothing but physical contact with this petite girl. He had recently experienced slight tremors during lessons with the girl, but nothing as intense as what he felt now.
The power Christine had given him did not serve to make him feel stronger; no, Erik's confidence quickly fled him the longer he held the hand of his angel. When the time came to lift her onto the horse that would lead them down a deserted street to his lake, he thanked the heavens for his mask, and for the darkness, as he wrapped his hands around her waist and blushed heavily.
Erik had never had any real contact with women. His mother couldn't bear to be in the same room as her deformed son; her one 'kindness' had been to present him with a mask with which he could hide from the world. At the circus, the only woman he ever saw was the bearded lady, and she only ever screeched at him, tormenting him in an effort to improve her own disheartened spirits. He had made physical contact with only one woman before Christine, and that was Madame Giry, before they had even reached their teenage years. And even then it was just a clasping of hands, Madame Giry pulling him away from his tormentors to the haven of the opera house.
Thankfully Christine didn't notice his flush; she was looking back, looking to where they came from, nervous perhaps of the distance they were building between their current position and the familiarity of her dressing room.
Erik looked up and saw her gazing behind, and sighed to himself, beginning to feel the familiar sense of rejection and abandonment. But Christine made no further attempt to stop their journey, staying wide-eyed and amazed by her new surroundings, as Erik rowed them over the lake, and gave a gasp of astonishment when they finally reached the shore, and the beginning of his underground abode.
After he had studied Christine's face very carefully for traces of the damning fear, and had become satisfied of its absence, Erik gained a welcome feeling of confidence and once more began to sing to his angel, hoping to relax her, gain her acceptance maybe…. For she had not yet flinched away from him, nor made any sign to indicate mistrust or fear.
Christine accepted the Phantom's proffered hand, and let herself be helped out of the boat, and onto the shore of an extraordinary island in the middle of a lake she had never before even heard of. She had no idea what was happening to her anymore. Her world had been turned upside down that night; not in any negative fashion, but it was hard to accept that she had believed a falsehood for all these years, that perhaps she had somehow shamed her father's memory by believing that he had sent an angel that turned out to be a mere man.
And yet she felt no shame, no stupidity or ignorance. She did not even hold this enormous lie against the person who had conducted it over the years. Once more, she let that glorious voice flow around her, its intoxicating melody lulling her deeper into a state of consciousness that was more like a dream.
Erik could hardly believe his audacity as he continued to sing to his visibly near-swooning guest. Could his voice have the power to cause Christine's eyes to flicker closed, to tilt her head back, to imprint a look of pure ecstasy on her face? He had never imagined that he could have any such power over a woman. His distorted face had always ensured that the only power he had over people was to inject a mortal fear into their souls.
He knew he should stop. A true gentleman would never be giving Christine the obvious pleasures that she was experiencing at the sound of his song this early in the relationship. And yet he felt himself walking over to her, as if in a dream himself, moving closely behind her, putting his undeserving fingers on the bodice of her beautiful dress, drifting them lightly, yet intensely down and then back up, cupping her breast in his hand for a split second of heaven before grasping her own hand in his and lifting it up to the side of his face unmarked by gruesomeness-
What devilish daring possessed him, to submit his angel to the horror of his face, hidden though the worst was? And yet he continued, gasping silently with the infinite pleasures such contact gave him, ignoring the pangs of guilt he felt for taking advantage of his precious Christine, for she was doubtlessly under some sort of spell he'd managed to weave with his song of seduction.
Struck with a sudden feeling of elation, with an uncontrollable confidence that seized him after Christine's touch, he decided to show her the wonderful vision of her he'd created of their wedding. He guided her over to the veiled place where he kept his most secret, treasured fantasy, and with one swift motion, pulled open the curtains.
Christine was awoken from her surreal state harshly as she realised what her companion was showing her, and fainted, her overwrought mind giving in to the blank numbness of unconsciousness.
Erik was not overly upset by his angel's reaction. He could not be, not when his darling Christine was so innocent and good, and willing. He lay her down in the bed he had bought in case he needed a resting place good enough for his angel, and touched her hair, his hand lingering in adoration. It might take time for her to realise the full potential of what her master was offering her, but she would undoubtedly accept his proposal soon enough.
They had all the time in the world, after all.