The Music of the Night
He could hear her voice in his mind as he led her deeper and deeper underground. To his home beneath the opera house. When he finally realized that she was singing, he was taking her across the lake, pushing the boat along in the River Styx of his. There was no going back after this.
"Sing, my Angel of Music," he beckoned her, Christine's voice sang a beautiful melody, her voice going higher than ever before. "Sing for me!" Her voice went higher and higher, taking him to heights he had never been before. She was the one.
They finally arrived at his kingdom of music. The dark, mysterious kingdom that was his life. Christine knew of the darkness he embraced, the inspiration that you could take from the darkness. The inspiration that he now received from her.
Christine followed him as he held her hand without saying a word. She asked no questions, just listened as he spoke softly to her.
"Listen to the music of the night," he said softly. "Just listen. Let the music fill your soul. You've been waiting to come here, and now you are here with me, where you belong to be."
He led her around, showing her his life – the music that he lived for. The awe and wonder on her face made him glad. He knew that in her heart Christine understood everything he showed her, because it was what she lived for, too. The two of them had too much in common not to be together.
He drew her closer, feeling her breath mingle with his, smelling her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. The warmth that he had always wanted to feel. He laid his gloved hands on her body, wishing that he could feel them without the protection of the gloves. He could feel every curve of her body, could feel every breath she took as she pressed her body against his. He grabbed her hand and placed it to his face. Her hands were so soft against his skin. Her long, slender artistic hands. The hands that had written such beautiful and haunting melodies that had stolen his heart.
He had made her a dress which she would wear the day they were to married. He had made it with love, not stopping until he was finished with it, and every detail in the white satin and lace was perfect.
He took her up the stone embedded stair in the rock surrounding them passed the organ that he had spent so much of his playing, and up to one of the many alcoves in the cave. It, like the others, was decorated with hanging satin and red velvet. He lifted the curtain covering the dress, and he nearly laughed when she fell into his arms, unconscious.
"You're the one, Christine," he whispered to her ear as he carried her to his bed. It was in the of a golden swan, in another alcove just above the one with the dress. This one was also heavily draped, and he cast a quick look at the table beside the bed. There sat his music box. The small monkey that sat on top, happily clanging the two cymbals together to the soft melody that the box played.
He gently touched her soft cheek as he walked away. She was there with him, finally. She was so young and innocent, yet so mysterious and wise beyond her years. If she believe that no one understanding her made her an artist, she wasn't anymore. Now, the truth of her artistry, the truth of her writing, the truth of her soul was that he understood her, and he alone ever would.
"Good night, dear Christine," he whispered. "Let the Angel of Music fill your dreams."
Christine rose and heard a faint melody playing. She looked around, and saw the stone that were covered by yards and yards of material, and small trinkets and tables scattered around the room. On the table nearest the bed she had been sleeping on, Christine saw a small music box playing. The small monkey perched on top of the mahogany box was charming, but there was something odd about the way it had a slight smile on its nearly human face.
The dream she had had must have been real. There was no way that she could have imagined that man and the place that he had taken – brought – her to. The linens, the walls, the light around her was much too detailed and tangible to have ever been a dream. The mist had been too wet, the lake too real beneath her in the boat.
The man. Christine also remember a man in the boat. The man with the enchanting voice. As she recalled him, she saw the mask that had covered the right half of his face.
Christine walked out of the room and found that she was on a ledge that overlooked a misty lake, sitting near the land was the same boat that she remembered. There were still many, many candles lighting the dark space. So, if the boat and lake were real, the man had to be, too. Christine looked around and saw an organ. Sitting on the bench was a man. It had to have been the masked, mysterious man from the night before.
She had finally met her Angel of Music and was ecstatic. She had never felt so inspired to write and sing as she had the night before. As she walked slowly toward him, she could recall his soft touch and the adoration in those clear blue eyes. Whose had been the face in the mask, she wondered to herself as she grew closer. She saw him shift and turn his head away as she reached out her hands.
Christine gently caressed his soft cheek, and took a hold on the mask. Yet, something told her to stop. A line from 'All Falls Silent' ran through her mind. 'It is his decision to make, not mine. The man behind the mystery will reveal himself to me, in time.'
So be it. She would leave her Angel a mystery until he felt the time had come. She felt his jaw tighten as she hesitated with her fingers near the edge of the mask. She smiled gently at him when his eyes caught hers, and she caressed his face once again before letting her hands fall.
Christine sat beside him and placed her hands on the organ, striking the first note of her opera. She would let his keep his mystery and dignity. If something horrid lay behind the mask, when she saw it, she would always know that there was a soul behind it that understood everything she was.
Christine stole a look at him while she played the soft melody, and the adoration that she saw in those eyes took her breath away. She paused for a moment, then regained her composure and continued. As she sang, she could tell that the Phantom wanted to know the words to the song she was now singing – the song that begged her parents to come back, the song that made her feel her father's touch again, the song that brought so many happy memories from her childhood back.
Once again she sang for him – the man who may have always remained a mystery to her. As she sang the song and knew that he couldn't be speaking, Christine heard his melodic voice inside her head, telling her to sing and let her spirit soar. Finally, Christine finished the song, but her hands and mind wanted to play more. She had music inside of her.
The Angel had put it there.
He loved her – that was all he could think. Her songs, her melodies, her voice, and her eyes. Those blue eyes that had such sadness and longing in them. He had heard the song once before – when they were down in the haven of the chapel. But in one night, so many things had changed.
She had found him, felt his love. All had heard her voice, and all would be out to hear it again. And that fool. The one that was trying to take her away from him. He wouldn't let her be taken away from him.
The Phantom looked down and watched the hands that had caressed his face so lovingly fly across the keys with the same tenderness. He had come so close to being exposed. Within seconds of his love seeing the distorted face that he hid from the world. He knew that sometime, she would have to see it. But then, the thought sprang into his mind, had stopped her from taking the mask? Her fingers had lingered on the edge of the mask, and he knew that the thought had crossed her mind. So why not do it?
As he thought, so many things passed through his mind. The beauty of Christine's voice, and the thought of her seeing his face. She would surely scream and run from him. He couldn't risk that tragedy. He had already put so much into shaping her. But, what if he revealed his face now, while she had her curiosity peaked and her love was kindled.
He had made his choice. He turned away from her, and slowly peeled off the mask. The blood rushed through his veins as he turned toward her, waiting to hear her reaction. He waiting to hear her horrified scream, yet it never came.
The Phantom opened his eyes that had been shut in anticipation and saw Christine's face. Her blue eyes were clouded with tears that now ran silently down her soft cheeks. There was a slight smile on her lips. Was she not afraid of the hideous face that he had spent his life hiding from the world?
Love swelled within him as he felt Christine's hands gently caress the horror that was the right side of his face. Her hands gently stroked his face, and he couldn't believe it. She should be horrified – frightened of what she saw.
To his shock and disbelief, Christine placed a soft kiss on his cheek. He felt the tear roll down his cheek. She had been the only person to ever show him love and compassion.
The Phantom stood and walked away from Christine. He picked up the mask from the organ and put it back on. He turned back to her, and held out her hand for her to take.
"Come, we must return," he said. "Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you."
