A/N Author:TheTrinity--just wait for it! Daisy Deertree--Yes, I do. And now that I finally got my mask...8K evil laugh! I REALLY need R&R...this is my 1st fic, so PLEASE, r&r if u love Gerry B.!
Chapter 3—Stranger Than You Dreamt It
Erik awoke slowly to the sound of rolling music from without his room. He tried to remember what had happened—he had gone back to his room after the performance, he had spoken with Meg…and then his Angel had come. He had followed her, he didn't remember where, but a few things came to his mind as he rose and moved toward the music.
"I remember there was mist, swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake.
There were candles everywhere, and on the lake, there was a boat,
And in the boat, there was a woman…"
He emerged and looked around. The room was full of ornate sculptures and draping velvet cloths. He saw the lake and the boat, and when he turned to find the source of the music, he saw his Angel, sitting at a huge pipe organ covered in sheet music, turning to him just as he saw her.
"Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?"
His legs carried him toward her, and she watched him calmly. He extended a hand and lightly touched her face. The contact made him slightly dizzy, and she stood and guided his fingers closer, reaching to touch him as well. His palm trailed across her neck, and her eyes closed with the sensation as her hands slid down his arm and across his chest. He watched, all the while wondering about the mask she wore. Curiosity overcame him, and while her eyes still were closed, he drew her to him gently and pried it off.
She shrieked at him, and he let go of her and her mask, backing away a step or two. He had never seen such deformity, such diversity from the beautiful left side of her face. She clutched at her features and fell away from him to the floor.
"Damn you, you little prying detective, you little demon!
Is this what you wanted to see?
Curse you, you little lying betrayer, you little viper!
Now you cannot ever be free!
Damn you, curse you!"
Her eyes were filled with hate as she stared through her fingers at him.
"Stranger than you dreamt it—
Can you even dare to look, or bear to think of me?
This loathsome gargoyle, who burns in Hell,
But secretly yearns for Heaven,
Secretly…secretly…"
She had turned away from him now, and he saw her shoulders quiver uncontrollably. When she sang, it was in desperation and utter sadness.
"But, Erik,
Fear can turn to love—
You'll learn to see, to find the soul behind the monster
This repulsive carcass, who seems a beast,
But secretly dreams of beauty,
Secretly…secretly…
Oh, Erik!"
Her entire frame shook with sobs as she reached back, still looking away. He crouched down, picked up her mask, and handed it to her. She tossed her hair out of her face and donned her covering. She took a moment to compose herself, then spoke.
"Come, we must return," she said sorrowfully. "Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you."
There was great chaos the day after Erik's disappearance. The building was searched for him, and newspapers reported the mystery. Of course, this was how Christine wanted it. She left a note for Madame Giry to give to the managers, and recited it softly in her lair as she brushed her waves of dark hair.
"Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance. Erik Daaé has returned to you and I am anxious his career should progress. In the new production of "Il Muto", you will therefore cast Piangi as the Pageboy, and put Monsieur Daaé in the role of the Prince. The role which Monsieur Daaé plays calls for charm and appeal. The role of the Pageboy is silent, which makes my casting, in a word, ideal. I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant, O. G."
She set her brush down and put her mask back on. She really hated that mask. It reminded her of most of her childhood, which she had spent being thrashed and laughed at by a caravan of traveling gypsies and their customers. She hated the scars on her back, and the recollections of the rope, taut in her hand, her captor dangling from the noose at the other end. She had escaped the gypsies, but not their memory. And now, here she was, buried under the Paris Opera, and the one love of her life had seen her ugliness and would never return.
She sighed. She remembered the night before, the way he had touched her so gently, caressed her so carefully, and simply held her in a way as she'd never known and never would again. Those damned managers…she had a feeling that they would disobey her yet again. She would have to, indeed, create a 'disaster beyond their imaginations.' What to choose? She thought about it, and decided on Buquet.
Joseph Buquet was a stagehand. He was a vile bastard—Christine knew for a fact that he watched the dancers change in their dressing rooms. He also was too curious for his own good. He had nearly caught her one day, as she made for a trapdoor. She had followed him more than once, and discovered that he knew many secret passages that she had hidden around the House. Buquet could be disposed of, easily enough. She had her Punjab lasso, and was she not the Phantom, after all?
A/N Uploader: I love this story so far and you should defiantly review. Believe me, this story is worth the effort of typing a review. It takes both the author and myself great effort in writing (Her Part) and uploading/italicizing/and writing this very A/N(on my part) So…REVIEW PLEASE! If you're looking for more POTO Fics in addition to the wonderful masterpiece above you should check out mine "Music of the Soul" under my pen name lilhobbitsparrow. Good Day to you all and if you need help locating the review button, it's on the bottom left-hand corner of the screen.
