Phantom of the Opera
The instant Christine's fingertips touched his buttery soft leather glove, her Angel began pulling her toward him, as undeniable as the ocean's current. She felt as if she were in a dream; bright lights blinded her to all else but him, so that she could hardly feel her feet beneath her. All Christine felt was him; the warmth of his hand through his glove, and the steady, encouraging tugs of him leading her.
She blinked once, and quite suddenly she was no longer in her dressing room but in a glowing stone corridor, lit by brilliant candelabras. Still holding her hand, he turned his head slightly to look back at her. The motion sent Christine's heart dropping to her toes. He was stunning. His masked profile held her in a smoldering gaze, the piercing eye seeming to look into her very soul. His long black cape only accentuated his already graceful movements as he guided her farther down the passageway.
"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came..." Christine didn't even realize at first the words had left her mind until her Angel's grip tightened on her hand. Emboldened by his touch, she continued to let the notes flow. "That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name." As he drew her down the staircase, she let the notes sail higher. "And do I dream again, for now I find-the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."
As soon as the last phrase left her mouth, reality sunk in and the truth she had always known but never acknowledged was now committed to spoken words. Her Angel of Music was the Phantom of the Opera. This man was the ghost that Madame Giry had always warned the other girls about, the one that threatened managers, the one that played cruel tricks on Carlotta.
Her Angel and the Phantom were one man. Christine let the words settle into her mind. A small something inside of her cracked, like a piece of fine bone china. Distrust filled that fissure and widened it a bit more. For a moment, she entertained the notion of freeing her hand from his grasp and fleeing. She didn't have a chance to consider the idea further. Never relaxing his grip on her, he lifted her onto a large black horse, making sure she was settled before letting go of her and taking up the horse's reins. Feeling the strong animal beneath her gave Christine a measure of calm, and she braced herself with her hands against the horse's neck.
As though he could sense her thoughts, the Phantom began singing, his voice rich and low. "Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet." He led the horse down a few more short steps and through a vaulted archway. In the distance, water from an underground river glinted in the weak light cast from torches.
"And though you turn from me, to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind." A splash of guilt slapped Christine in the face. He knew exactly what she had thought earlier. He stopped the horse and gently lifted her to the ground and into a small boat, resting atop the water. He saw to it that she was seated comfortably, and then carefully stepped into the boat himself.
She swallowed her treacherous thoughts. He had done absolutely nothing to hurt her, not tonight, or through the years of music lessons. No, he was much too kind of a man, much too gentle to hurt anyone. There had to be some mistake. Meg always said that Christine's thoughts often danced off with her, and tonight was no different. He pushed off with a long pole, and Christine sang again.
"Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear-" He picked up the next line, as he always had in their music lessons. "It's me they hear." Then their voices intertwined intimately. "Your spirit and my voice, in one combined. The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."
"He's there, the Phantom of Opera."Christine mostly sang the words to herself, releasing the last doubtful thought from her mind.
That's all there is-the Phantom is completely inside my mind. I've made my Angel into something he's not. My father would not have sent a Phantom in the place of an Angel. Christine released the breath pent up inside of her since the moment she had first wrongly called her Angel the Phantom. Then, from the depths of her soul, she began singing, letting the notes dictate where her song went.
"Sing, my Angel of Music," her Angel coaxed. Christine let the song go a little higher, reveling in the power behind it.
"Sing, my angel," he whispered, his voice smoky. She made a key change and the song lifted higher. "Sing for me," he said louder, over her sailing notes. Christine took another deep breath and changed keys again. As if lost in her voice, he droned drowsily, "Sing…" She sang even higher. "Sing, my Angel," he demanded. "Sing for me!" Christine hit the top note in her range, the sound echoing like a bell in the cavern that she found they had entered. How they arrived there, Christine didn't know; she had never been so absorbed in her music before, not even at the gala just a few hours ago.
Black curtains swept back as if by some unseen hand, and a massive, iron grate rose out of the water, dripping as it made its ascent. A cave lay beyond, its walls of limestone shot with veins of crimson and indigo. It was illuminated by hundreds of candles, their flames casting flickering shadows upon musical scores and sketches scattered across the floor. More candelabras rose out of the water itself, the candles' flames springing to life even as water streamed off of their holders. A magnificent pipe organ lined one wall, its golden cylinders stretching toward the ceiling. Other instruments lay casually on the floor, as though set there only for a moment while their player went elsewhere to pursue a different art. Christine's chest heaved as she struggled to regain her breath that was unexpectedly absent.
Her Angel stepped off the gondola and onto the floor of his lair, resting his pole against the wall. He pulled his cloak off of his shoulders and around his back, letting it settle itself on the floor with a swirl. He stretched his arms out and looked back at Christine, gesturing at the room behind him.
"I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne..." His voice seemed absent, almost eerie in its emptiness. He stepped toward the organ, studying its keys and intricate pipes.
"To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music…music." His back was toward Christine, and she felt the barrier, as cold and empty as the song he was singing. His voice sharpened with a slight edge, a small sliver of pain and fear.
"You have come here, for one purpose and one alone..." He slowly turned toward her again, and she looked at him, eager to make eye contact. "Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me, to serve me to sing for my music…my music."
Christine mentally reeled with surprise. He needed her? She was the one who was sad and heartbroken over the death of her father. How was it that she could ever improve his music, which was already perfect on its own? Still, the idea of helping him touched her, and she smiled a bit at him, though her eyes were still wide with astonishment.
He finally allowed himself to meet her gaze, and felt a niggling of guilt when he saw the shock on her face. He stepped toward where she was settled in the boat and began singing a completely different song. His earlier tune had been for himself; this one would be for her.