A/N: Yay, another chapter! My muse is on overload, and if I don't release some of these ideas I'm afraid he'll blow up! Here, my faithful reviewers, is the beginning of the actual plot which I have talked about for so long! But it's just the beginning, so don't get confused or have any wild ideas. From now on I'll be talking more in depth about some individual girls in the corps de ballet. Now, I never said Amy was the heroine in this story. Notice the title, Harem. Harem, not "Amy". The Phantom could easily fall for any one of these girls. I started out with Amy because she was different. She caught the Phantom's eye. Now I'll be elaborating on the characteristics of the other girls who might be worthy of his attentions. Expect some more detail on Celine, Kayla, and Leah, as well as more past references for Amy. They're my favorite girls, so they'll be the ones battling for his love.
Another thing, I want your opinions on this. I think one of those girls should fall for the Phantom first. I'm sort of tired of the Opera Ghost obsessing over some girl then, through constant affection, finally winning her heart. Maybe it should be the other way around? Well, I want your thoughts on that. If you like it, I might try it out. If you don't, I'll drop the idea!
No reviewer replies at the moment. Just enjoy this fairly long chapter!
Oh, and I won't put up another chapter until I get 10 more reviews!
11
Don't Let the Phantom Fright
Sorelli stood frozen to the spot, her hand still outstretched from her assault on the girl. Her mouth hung open limply and, for a split second, she glanced around the room, begging with her eyes for one of the ballerina's to come help her.
Fat chance, she thought after getting a good look at the dozen or so petite bodies huddled behind their small cots for protection, as if the small beds would possibly stand as a barrier against the beast before the Prima Ballerina.
With cat-like grace, the Phantom stepped around Amy to stand in front of her, between the two quarrelling girls. His impressive frame, clad in all black except for the stark white mask adorning the right side of his face, towered over the tiny girl before him.
His long, leather-gloved fingers twitched slightly - whether from anger or impatience, Sorelli did not know, though it was probably a mix of both.
"How unladylike of you," he purred softly, golden eyes slit in anger. He took a step forward, causing the Prima Ballerina to take a step back, trapping herself up against a wall in the process.
A predatory grin spread slowly across the Ghost's features, sending an ominous shiver down his prey's spine.
Deftly he snatched up his famous Punjab Lasso from a hidden pocket in his cloak and wrapped his hands around the deadly weapon. The girls behind him gasped, having heard stories of the terrible noose from which many dead men have hung. And, having told those stories herself, the most startled, frightened gasp came from La Sorelli.
The strip of catgut lay lazily in the Phantom's hands, like a coiled up, sleeping snake - dangerous, of course, but not threatening as of yet.
With a flick of his wrist, the whistling sound of the rope flying through the air, and a small gasp that was cut off abruptly, the Ghost had caught his prey.
Sorelli reached up and helplessly began clawing at the rope, missing at times and ripping into her own neck with those long nails of hers. She didn't seem to notice, however, as she kept going, struggling helplessly for her life.
The girls in the dormitory screamed shrilly, their eyes wide with shock.
The lust for blood rose, a flame igniting in his eyes as the drums of death pounded out their rhythm. Funny, the Phantom absentmindedly thought, that the drums always seemed to grow slower and slower, fainter and fainter, just like the victims heartbeat. Ah, but what a beautiful sound they made, even just for a few moments of morbid glory! Kill, kill, kill, they seemed to chant. And who was he to disobey such compelling words?
The dancer's eyes were bulging, her face turning slightly blue from lack of oxygen.
She had never looked so beautiful, the Phantom noticed with a sneer.
But something was tugging at the back of his mind. It was telling him to stop.
Stop?
Ha!
He tightened his grip a little, making sure no air passed through her lungs. Murder was a difficult art - sickening and deranged, but an art nonetheless. One could never be too careful when handling enemies.
There was that annoying noise again! Telling him to stop, and right in the middle of the process, too!
Did it have no decency? On with the show, I can't stop now!
Something tugged at his cape roughly. How annoying! Apparently that pest of a noise had a body, too.
The pulls became stronger and more frantic, seriously distracting him now. He unknowingly loosened up the rope, allowing his victim to take in a rather large breath, saving her life...
For a few more minutes, at least.
Growling with frustration, the Opera Ghost turned on the creature which dared to disrupt him.
"What?" he yelled, twirling on his heel to face a rather pale looking Amy. Her eyes were wide with fear, brimming with salty tears that she had been trying to hold back. His harsh anger at her broke the flood gates, and on came the tears. As soon as it started, it was difficult to get them to stop.
"P-please..." she sniffled, eyes downcast and hands folded in front of her. The girl's entire body was quaking with unhindered fear.
Still gripping the rope, the Phantom forced his voice to quite down. "What?" he said in a softer tone, getting Amy to look up at him.
She glanced behind him, then back up into his golden eyes. "D-don't k-kill her...please." She whispered 'please', the word hoarse on her throat.
Gripping the rope angrily, he let out a long sigh and straightened up. "As you wish," he stated coldly then, turning, flicked the punjab off of La Sorelli's neck and deftly began to coil it up again.
Stumbling over towards the nearest cot - Kayla's -, the Prima Ballerina fell onto it and took in rather large gasps of air. "You," gasp, "are," gasp, "Phantom" gasp, "Opera!"
The black cloaked figure spread his arms wide, facing the girl who stared at him in wide-eyed fear, Kayla just behind her with the same look plastered over her face. "How did you ever guess?" he said sarcastically. Lowering his arms, he crossed them over his chest and leaned against the wall, punjab now tucked safely in it's pocket. "If only all my workers were such little geniuses as you," snickered the Phantom, an obvious cold disdain for the dancer before him flickering in his eyes.
Shifting his attention towards Amy, his gaze softened and his demeanor was less rigid. "I could have killed you. For interrupting like that." His voice was so emotionless, yet still it turned the corps de ballet's spines to ice. Or, maybe because it was void of feeling, it had that affect?
"But you didn't." Amy's tears had dried by now, but their salty trails were still burned across her cheeks, turning her face slightly red.
"No, I suppose not."
There was a long silence in the room. The dancers didn't dare to move and Amy just studied the strange man before her - for, by now, she was certain he was a man. A man with many talents.
Many, many talents.
After a while, the Opera Ghost began to tense up from the attention bestowed upon him. Yet, in some odd way, he liked being looked upon. For so long he had stalked in the shadows, just some unseeable ghost. But now!
Now he was a living, breathing threat. Not some unknown writer of silly notes. Not some stupid ghost that played tricks on unsuspecting cast. He was real.
And he rather enjoyed being considered such.
The minutes ticked by, but nobody moved.
Amy, finally, broke the silence, though not with words.
She turned around - doing what no other person dared to do: turning her back to the Phantom of the Opera - and slowly strode over to her bed.
Whipping the black cloak that lay atop her rather thin cover off, she walked back to where she previously stood in front of the Phantom and held out her arms, fabric in hand, to the Ghost.
"Here. You will probably want this back."
All eyes were on her, and she could feel it. A small blush crawled up her neck at having just proved to the corps de ballet that she had lied to them earlier.
Nearly smiling, the Phantom pushed the velvety cloak back towards her and shook his head.
"Keep it, I have plenty."
Amy nodded and pulled the cloak to her chest. Already the cold of the night was creeping into that little room. Each girl there felt it and, in turn, began to shiver. Still, they didn't dare move in the presence of the Opera Ghost.
He was about to leave when, quite suddenly, a loud boom sounded outside and the sky was lit up with an eerie orange glow. The noise, though far off, was fairly loud and made everyone, including the Phantom, jump and face the window which opened out towards the noise.
"What the..." the ghost whispered. Everyone heard him, though, and turned to face him.
Sprinting towards the window, he stared out intently. His finely tuned ears could make out the distant sound of gunshots. Glowing golden eyes opened wide as realization dawned on him."No...idiots! I thought it was just a rumor..." he murmured to himself. Amy walked up beside him and peeked out the window, also. She, however, had no idea what was going on.
"What's wrong," she asked, her voice laced with apprehension.
Closing his eyes tightly shut, the Phantom exhaled loudly, remembering the rumors he had been hearing on the street the past few nights.
Apparently the poor people of Paris were angry. Angry at the rich people who had everything, yet spared nothing for them. Angry at the absurd taxes being forced onto them, and angry at the unfair treatment of their people because of social standings.
For some time now, the most secluded parts of town had been murmuring about a peasant uprising. The farmers, merchants, and general lower class society were organizing a way to overthrow the officers of Paris. Of France in general!
It sounded like an utterly hopeless thing at the time, thought the Phantom with some dismay. But now it didn't seem so unbelievable.
It was still far away, but the proof was evident. The sudden spitefulness in the common folk towards the prestigious upper class. The increased crime rate. More peasants in the jails. And now, the final touch, the sound of gunshots and screams coming from the upper district of Paris, where all the noblemen and women lived.
Gritting his teeth, the Ghost turned sharply away from the window and stared at the girls around him, including Amy, who was surprisingly close.
His opera was safe - for now. But within a few weeks, he was sure some idiot would have the bright idea of trashing the high society's entertainment, aka. the Opera Populaire.
He was attached to this place. It was the closest thing he had to a home.
And he admitted, though grudgingly, he was also attached to the people inside the Opera House. Well, most of them anyways. He could care less if Signora Gudicelli got shot.
He would not allow the rest of them to be harmed, though.
"There is a peasant uprising going on," he spoke, his authoritative voice addressing the girls in the room.
A small gasp issued. How obvious.
"I believe you are safe for tonight but," he glanced back at the window. "I wouldn't risk it."
"I..." he hesitated for a moment. What was he going to do to keep these girls safe? He could stay up all night down in his lair. If there were any gunshots from above, he would easily hear them. But he probably wouldn't make it to the surface in time.
The Phantom also reasoned that he should look over the entire opera. He could easily stalk about his kingdom throughout the night, unnoticed, and would make it anywhere on time.
At least, he hoped so.
But...
He looked back at the girls and shivered inwardly. If those peasant men got ahold of them...
No, he didn't want to think about that. It hit too close to home. Yes, the corps de ballet were probably under the most danger. The men could look out for themselves.
He could stay here, though he preferred not to.
"You have two choices," his cold voice rang out, breaking the silence that had fallen onto the room.
"You can either come down to the catacombs with me," Each girl's eyes went wide at this. "Or, I can stay up here in this room. I do not trust the filth of Paris, not ever but especially not tonight. They will not have their way with my dancers."
Leah, with the blonde-white hair and bright blue eyes, laughed nervously and spoke for the first time. "You've given us a lose-lose situation, no?"
The Phantom's amber eyes looked over at the source of the voice, slightly surprised at the lightness of her hair, and nodded. "Yes, I have, haven't I?
"I'm not trusting you!" shouted Sorelli, pointing one long, bony finger at the apparition.
"Ah, I see you've regained your breath," answered the ghost coldly.
"I-I d-don't want to go d-down t-there," stuttered Celine as she pointed towards the floor.
"Fine," answered the Phantom, his eyes upon the frightened girl now. "Then I'll stay up here."
There was another awkward silence. This was getting very annoying, thought the ghost.
"I trust him," said Amy, her eyes scanning the crowd of frightened dancers. Startled by this, the Phantom looked down at her in slight shock.
She glanced up at him, then back at the ballet dancers. "He hasn't hurt me yet, and - though Sorelli might have a reason not to - I find I can trust him."
Kayla smiled slightly and jumped out of her bed, making her way towards the girl with caution. "I-I believe you, Amy." Then, turning to the towering figure before her, she curtsied slightly, though it was obvious she was still shaken by him. "Welcome to our home, Monsieur Fantomé."
Celine and Leah walked up behind Kayla and did the same. All four girls looked over at the rest of the corps de ballet, but the others didn't budge.
Slowly the girls dispersed to their separate cots, sliding under the thin sheets for the meager warmth they would give. Amy sat on the edge ofher bed, watching the Phantom as he walked over towards a corner and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His bright eyes studied each girl, memorizing their faces so he could keep track of them.
This would definitely be an interesting night.
Sorelli stayed in the dormitories that night, not daring to miss out on this adventure. She slept with one of the other girls in her small cot, nearly pushing the petite woman out of her bed.
Someone near the middle of the room yawned and issued their nightly 'goodnight' ritual. "Goodnight," she said dozily.
"Sleep tight," echoed Kayla with a lazy smile on her face.
"Don't let the Phantom fright!" finished Celine with a yawn of her own.
Only Leah, who glanced at the Phantom to see his reaction, caught the ghost of a smile which graced his lips.