The great but not very mighty Karina (last name taken out to make it difficult for rabid phangirls to torch her dorm for blasphemingly parodying the wonderful POTO) is back! Still sick, but the doctor assures her she'll be sick for quite a while. She--meh, darn third person. Back to first. Anyway, we were all afraid it was pneumonia (I had all the symptoms, including coughing up blood and skin turning blue), but I went to the doctor, and he cheered me up by telling me it's just viral bronchitis. Basically, the same symptoms except more coughing, different color of what I'm coughing up, and less dying. Oh, and it will last six weeks rather than dying after two.

BY THE WAY, I MUST MENTION THIS FOR THE REST OF THE STORY! First of all, sometimes I base this on the movie, sometimes on the musical (ALW's, obviously, not Ken Hill's), and sometimes--very rarely--on the books. It's just whichever suits my needs at whatever time. Secondly, just so you're aware, even when I'm done going through the whole entire play (which is what the general story is based on, not the books, obviously), I plan to do extra random scenes that don't actually necessarily go with the plot so much. So even when it's complete...it won't be. Stay tuned :-D Oh, and I'll get to everyone's requests at some point, whether in the story or in the extra scenes, but I'll try within the story.

And now a note to my favorite reviewer, Robika. It's not that I pick favorites or anything, but you're the one who's responded every chapter AND obeyed my request to help suggest ideas...so first of all, thanks for that. Is the pie thing a Monty Python thing? I don't remember that...hmm. If it's all you, yay for creative juices. I love the registrar sketch--it rules. Unfortunately, it doesn't fit in here (plotwise) very well--you should put it in something, and if you do, tell me so I can read the whole thing.

Okay, just one more author's note (finally!). I own this about as much as Erik owns Cesar: I stole it for my own malevolent purposes from people who'd probably be ticked off if they knew exactly who had it, where the person is hiding it, and what they're doing with it.

And now we go forth...deeper than the pit orchestra...

Due to the author's lack of flowing creative juices (even the intense coughing couldn't stimulate the brain into thinking right), we will gloss over the journey to the Phantom's lair. Basically, if you're reading this, I'm sure you already know what happens, and if you don't, either watch the movie (or see the musical, but that tends to be more difficult) or read another parody. Ever read Cleolinda's "Phantom of the Opera in 15 Minutes"? I love that one. "Are we there yet?" "No." "Are we there yet?" "No." "Will we get there any faster if I flash all of my thigh and possibly more?" "...Yes."

Anyway, the two traveled to the lair--and when I say traveled, I mean traveled. Not just by foot. By horse, by boat...and before long, Christine even rode the Phant--wait, don't want to up the rating on this. During this time, Christine also conveniently found out that his name was Erik, just to make writing the rest of this story a bit easier.

The two embraced lovingly. Christine thought back to Raoul and, for a brief moment, hesitated. "Oh, oh, oh, Erik...should we?"

"Oh, Christine, why not?"

Christine put up no further resistance. "Be gentle with me..."

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation,
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination,
Silently, the senses abandon their defenses...

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor,
Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender,
Turn your face away from the garish light of day,
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light...
And listen to the music of the night...

Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams,
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before...
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR!

The real, present-day (having time-traveled?) Erik walked in front of the scene at this point, looking slightly embarrassed. "Ah, I, um...I'm terribly sorry. This is not actually the song I sang; what I sang was really in French. And when I sang it, I sang it infinitely better than Gerard Butler. Er, sorry." He walked out of the shot while the Erik behind him continued singing to Christine. Conveniently, quite a bit of the song had passed by.

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication,
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation,
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in
To the power of the music that I write...
The power of the music of the night...

Christine cut in at this moment. "Oh, Erik, are you going to do anything, or are you just going to sing me a bunch of metaphors all evening?"

Erik looked at her pleadingly. "Just a few more," he wheedled.

"Oh," Christine sighed, rolling her eyes. She promptly fell asleep from boredom.

"Damn," Erik muttered. "Oh, well, since she's already asleep, she won't care if I continue..."

You alone can make my song take flight...
Help me make the music of the night!