Dear all,

First, thanks a lot for reading my story and for the reviews and comments.

As you might have noticed, my intent in this story is to follow Leroux's timeline as accurate as possible, except that slowly the events and characters will take different paths and interact in different ways.

I would love to hear your opinion, either by PM or reviews.

Also, I would be particularly curious to know how much you enjoy reading about the development of the characters, i.e., how many of you prefer to see only intense action scenes (usually including Erik;)) and how many enjoy reading details and insights about other characters' life and thoughts.

Thanks a lot!

Dany.

PS. Erik is back in chapter 13, but it will make more sense if you read everything. ;)

The Phantom of the Opera

Too far. And yet it was nothing.

The anger slowly melt into sadness, and I cried all the anguish away, feeling deadly lonely. For some reason, I felt deeply connected to him since the first day I met him. The episode after that, when I got to know his house and to hold his hand, had been my great treasure. I know we were perfect strangers then, but still it hurt seeing that that special relationship I had anticipated never came close to the truth. But of course, I was unaware of everything he was going through at that moment of his life.

I once stopped to think that he could be behind the walls, watching me, and that made me cry harder, angry at myself for holding up illusions. However, after a while I couldn't take this idea from my mind, and some kind of paranoia took control of me: it was like being on stage all the time. I would think him behind the walls and would act pitifully, as if that was the only resource left for me to use against him, or to sensibilize him. And it meant nothing for him! "I had expected too much, out of nothing," I repeated to myself...

This omnipresence of his was irritating. But after all, what could one expect from the "Phantom of the Opera", huh? What a ridiculous existence, I thought, as if I could hurt him doing so.

I couldn't believe I spent so much time talking about this damn ghost, inventing stories, to end up finding out he not only actually existed in flesh and bone, but was also a murderer… and a cruel idiot, who took advantage of my naivety to fool me.

But it was not true. It was not his fault. And yet, I never felt so dependent on someone, and I hated that condition.

It was not like he was the first man I had wanted. I've been through a few dates and relationships before meeting him, though I would prefer acting as an inexperienced child - the same hypocritical trick used by most of the artists around me, who didn't want to give up the attractive and rich men courting them, yet still didn't want a spot on their image.

No, things were different with him, and I could tell that since the very beginning. There was something much more special and strong about him, something that was completely new to me. And to him I had surrendered so completely, even if he had not asked for it...

I stood up and walked to the mirror. It was a small framed looking glass, sitting on a table, half covered by clothes hanging over it. I looked at my face, my hair messed, my freckled cheeks wet. I looked deep into my own eyes and saw it was useless trying to brainwash myself: I still admired him and longed for his proximity.

At a second glance, I felt extremely stupid: certainly I could find something better to do than wallow in self-commiseration.

I combed my hair, tidying it with a braid. What day was today? Was Christine back from her trip to Perros-Guirec yet? I had not decided if I would tell her everything, but I desperately needed to talk with someone. As I walked to the door, my mother entered the room in a rush.

"Meg, the managers put box five on sale again!"

She said that in a somber, worried voice, as she would treat all the subjects related to the Ghost. Again that hateful Ghost. She was the one who started it all, I thought angrily. She was the one who brought the idea that this Phantom was more than a general stage superstition.

She would claim that the maniac who was blackmailing the managers, the spectre spotted often around the Opera, and the spirit who played tricks on artists--were all the same person. I wondered what other incarnations he would assume...

But she was right, after all. It would make sense that this man would blackmail the managers: he had to get money somehow, and having box five for himself at every performance was a bonus. The things my mother "knew" about the Phantom were incredibly exciting, if nothing else--and I had become the preferred resource of stories about him among the ballet girls. How ironic!

So when she told me the Phantom had lost his little privilege, I glared at her and hissed, "it's about time!" slamming the door behind me.

Coming back from Perros-Guirec

I found Christine sitting by her dressing table, with an aura of tranquility and happiness around her. She gave me a lovely smile seeing me at her threshold, standing up to embrace me.

Christine was beautiful that night! She was already a very pretty girl, but there was something about this new glow in her face that accentuated it even more.

She had her curly dark hair carefully tied on the top of her head, with a few locks falling on the sides of her face, as a frame to her pale and delicate face. A dark trace of make up complimented her brown eyes, making them look even bigger. A shade of green, matching her gorgeous dress, softened her already sweet look.

It made me happy to see Christine like that, after knowing her for so long as a humble chorus girl. She deserved achieving this, for she was an enchanting person, with a strong wish for conquering her dreams. But...wasn't she only a chorus girl again, after her big night?

"Eh, Christine! What is the occasion?"

She smiled shyly, "Nothing special, Meg. Sit here, please! There is so much I need to tell you!"

I felt very glad that Christine was finally trusting me enough to consider me a good friend, and share things with me. I gave her a broad smile, thinking that there was no reason for me to not tell her what was in my heart, either.

"Me too! By the way, Raoul came..."

"Raoul said he loves me, Meg!" she interrupted me. She had a serious expression on her face, as if waiting for my reaction, but her eyes were shining with excitement. I didn't say anything, and I felt her savouring my surprise.

"He went to Perros-Guirec to meet me!"

"How sweet! But how did he..."

"I sent him a message before leaving, explaining I was going to visit my dad's graveyard."

Christine was exultant, her legs moving nervously under the dress, in a girlish excitement. I must admit that I felt a little discomfort inside of me, which I would call envy. What was I going to tell her? That I met someone that made me fall head over heels in love with him, the same one who "rejected" me completely even before knowing what was going on? And that this person, as a bonus, was the Phantom of the Opera? I busted out laughing bitterly.

"What did I say, Meg?"

Christine took hold of my hands, and her genuine concern made me feel awful for disliking her happiness a while ago. I built my best smile, "Nevermind. So, he went to Perros-Guirec and...?"

She forgot about my strange attitude and resumed, her eyes always lit with joy. "And we spent a nice afternoon together, and he told me he also had heard..." she stopped for a moment, "Oh, Meg, my angel was there, too!"

"Really?" I said, with no irony.

"And just like he promised me, he played in his violin 'The Resurection of Lazarus', a sad song my dad used to play...and my Angel played it at my father's grave, as a homage to the anniversary of his death! Oh, Meg, the Angel played heavenly, as one would expect, and the night was so beautiful." She closed her eyes. "The moon was bright, reflecting its glow everywhere, and his music came, as a blessing from all the angels above! I know Papa was there at that moment, thankful to this wonderful Angel who guides and protects me now."

"And did Raoul hear him, too?"

"Raoul? Well, he had heard him before..." She looked up, as if trying to remember exactly what happened. "Raoul had a strange accident that night, Meg. He was found unconscious the next morning, outside a little church...but...yes, he heard the Angel before that."

"Is he alright now?" I suddenly found myself concerned about him.

"I think so. Well, it's been a while since I left Perros-Guirec, and only his brother has looked for me..."

"What did he say?"

She bent her head, avoiding my look, "I asked the maid to dismiss him..."

"The Count?! Are you crazy, Christine? Do you know how much influence he has in the Opera?"

Her head still down, she said almost in a whisper, "The Angel is very strict with my visitors, I told you. And yet...he seems so...absent...lately..."

"You mean, you haven't heard him?"

"Oh, no! No, he would never miss one lesson! He says I have the most beautiful voice he ever heard, and that it is an honor being my teacher!" she said proudly.

I looked down, having that not-so-noble feeling again.

"He sounds very commending."

"Er...quite. He can be very demanding, and extremely severe, too. But he seems to have changed a little... I don't know how to explain."

I was not all that interested in this angel story to ask much further about his changes.

"How did Raoul manage to listen to him? Does he take singing lessons, too?"

My joke was more bitter than funny. I was getting tired of her nonsensical stories with happy endings. She laughed, saying friendly and gently, "No, you silly! That naughty young man was listening behind my door, when my Angel came to me, inside my dressing room. Raoul heard him talking to me."

"And what was he saying?"

"Among other things, that I must love him. That made Raoul mad with jealousy! It took all my energy to convince him I didn't have a suitor."

"I would imagine..."

But I was not imagining anything. I was feeling worse than I was before coming to Christine. And it was not her fault at all!

At no moment was Christine bragging, she was only sharing with me how happy she was. If that displeased me so much, it was because I couldn't bear to see people content when I felt so miserable. And realizing that made me dislike myself even more.

I excused myself, suddenly remembering an appointment I had with another friend.

"I'm sorry you have to go, Meg! Please stop here later and tell me about your story."

With a grimace, I said I would, and left her room.