A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! :) Again, I blended as much of the hidden plot as I could into this tale, especially in narrative, while weaving in my own idea of that plot, which is a prelude to my stories: The Quest, The Treasure, and The Claim (the latter still in progress). If you have any questions, feel free to ask. If you want to see the hidden plot scene summaries with all of what we have found, I have been putting it up on a private group at Facebook - (still in progress) - just do a search for Hidden Plot -ALW's Phantom... and now...
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IV
He felt the tremble of her hand against his glove and had to control his own hand from shaking.
By all that was holy, she was here! He was with her. Touching him, touching her…a moment he had begun to despair might never occur.
Doubt attempted to overtake assurance, but the presence of which he was ever aware grew stronger, girding his courage. He held his head high, his gait more confident as he led her forward, deeper into his labyrinth of tunnels, every few steps turning back to discern her reaction …
Christine felt as if she was floating in a mist through the gold-lit corridor, barely aware, and yet oddly sensation came stronger. Everything was amplified - her fingers that tingled against the smooth kidskin leather of his glove, the gossamer of her skirts brushing against her thighs above the white stockings, the chill of the flagstones against the soles of her silken-clad feet.
In mesmerized awe she studied the walls enclosing the narrow corridor of stone upon which were mounted arms with hands, each holding five candles that blocked their path. But if that wasn't bizarre enough, they moved aside to let them pass and again closed the way behind them, as if in welcome deference to their arrival. As if in obedience to their master.
Bedazzled, she could not bring forth the words of song through her voice, silently acknowledging who he'd been to her…who he was to all of them. Twice he turned his head to give her a sidelong glance, as if to ascertain she was truly there. She felt almost dizzy at the forceful contact of his one gray-green eye behind the ivory mask that seemed to glow, and she turned her interest away from the living candelabra to study him instead.
Beneath the ankle-length cloak, his shoulders were wide, the hair that touched his embroidered collar possessing the sheen of lustrous ebony. He walked with an alluring, animalistic grace and held himself tall, like a member of the aristocracy. In wonderment, she followed his lead, barely aware of their trek and oddly unconcerned where he was taking her…
They took a bend in the path and approached an area of the cavern that declined in a tight spiral, his torch the lone light that flickered in the well of darkness. As they made their descent, at last she found her voice and continued her song aloud, in soft but awed accusation -
"…the Phantom of the Opera is there - inside my mind."
Once she named him, her first time to call him by any title other than Angel, he immediately looked back at her in surprise, his eyes swiftly roving her face to form before he again set his attention to the path, with his torch held out before him.
She had seen past his disguise, somehow, to the truth. The knowledge lent the Phantom more fortitude, and as they came to a second area of descent, where four candles glowed against the wall, he took up her aria with words of his own. As he sang, the power that had become his nature swelled until it thrummed throughout his blood…
Christine stared ahead in curiosity at the black stallion standing at the bottom of the decline that led into the second cellar. She again turned her gaze in wonderment to the living legend beside her, watching as he abruptly brought the torch to sweep before her face. Despite the enormous flame, a sudden dark mystique seemed to emanate from him; surely it must be a deception to her eyes that even the bright lining of his cloak darkened in that moment. In his close stare she saw something intense, something unnamed…
Something that frightened her.
"My power over you," he sang with firm assurance bordering on demand, "grows stronger yet…"
Christine anxiously looked away and behind, toward the tiny and distant flames of light and the bracketed candles that glowed against the stone wall. Where four had earlier flickered, now three remained lit.
"And though you turn from me, to glance behind…"
There was Darkness in the shadows, a Darkness unnervingly familiar and at the same time mysterious…alluring. Possessing. A Darkness she had sensed within the opera house for a very long time.
"The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind."
He set the torch into a low holder and led her to the black stallion, his manner now seeming almost uncertain. It was perhaps for that reason she did not shy away but allowed him to place his gloved hands so intimately around her waist and hoist her high upon the sidesaddle. Her pulse raced in her ears at his touch, so breathtakingly personal, and yet the gloves he wore somehow made the required act a formal politesse.
The man she now knew as Phantom did not seat himself behind. Christine was both grateful, at a loss for the stirring of foreign emotions inside her, and conversely dismayed not to feel his strength and warmth against her back. Fright, a bird that had inexplicably fluttered away...
He led the stallion down a third incline lit by one candle at its summit, the gold returned to the lining of his cloak and glimmering in the candlelight. His magnificent voice decreased in power to caress, his words a silken persuasion. The white lace wrapper of her ensemble draped behind her along the horse's backside in a long train, and indeed, she felt like a privileged member of royalty with the manner in which he treated her. As they neared the bottom of the third cellar, one side of the cave wall fell away to reveal a lake underground.
Christine gasped to feel his hands at her waist once more and rested her own hands on his shoulders for balance as he carefully lifted her down. She felt somewhat breathless once her feet touched the bank and he did not immediately release her. They stood, facing each other, so close…until he retreated a swift step as if just aware of the liberties he took. Liberties not unwelcome...
The Phantom led her the brief distance to the water's edge and a sleek black gondola embellished with elegant gold décor. He assisted her to sit on matching cushions near the long prow, upon which were mounted two lanterns and a carved skull of gold. At the rear of the boat, a third lamp hung suspended, and he took the step down to stand behind her then reached to the damp cave wall for a long pole that rested there.
As he pushed them along a narrow canal and the luminescent green water that appeared lit from deep within, she resumed her song, sensing his silent demand to do so within her mind. Her heart was aflutter and eyes wide in wonder with each astounding moment that elapsed. On either side of the boat lit candles were held by those same gold-armed candelabras, a series of one, then four, then a trio to her right, with each holding five candles aglow to her left. She briefly mused over the pattern repeated from their trek downward, then thought about it no more.
They soon approached an area of the subterranean cave where frightful gargoyles had been chiseled from the brown rock and mammoth twin statues of Atlas bearing the world on his shoulders guarded the walls ahead. Sensing a presence that did not belong, the Phantom looked over his own shoulder. A swathe of white light followed at the stern, that which she had brought with her from her world, growing ever closer as if to overtake them in its radiance.
With a scowl, he swung his head back around to look at the flat rock that shielded his lair and impatiently poled them closer.
"Sing, my Angel of Music - Sing for me!" his latter words came more urgent and resounded throughout the hollow cavern. And as her crystalline runs reached heights once unattainable, he felt a visceral sort of pleasure burn throughout his blood.
As if awaiting their arrival and in obedience to a silent command, the barrier of stone across the water ascended, the crimson and black tapestries parted, and the third barrier of a portcullis began to rise. Lake water streamed off their end iron spokes, and a multitude of candles clutched in holders similar to those throughout the cavern cellars rose steadily from beneath, their wicks magically igniting into flame the moment they met with the chill air. In the midst of each contrivance of right-armed candlesticks was a three-pronged medallion of gold bearing a ghoulish black face. And directly ahead, a massive organ of ebony wood gleamed on the precipice above, with golden pipes that stood side by side in stair-step descent and shone in the candlelight.
They moved through the entrance, the white ribbon of light that followed catching up to them and engulfing them in its brilliant, blinding glow. Once the boat fully entered the lair, as tall and wide as a cathedral, the Phantom swiftly brought the iron portcullis down, thus preventing the intrusion of light from streaming further into his refuge.
Christine continued to sing in the highest of sopranic notes. She glanced away from the impressive instrument with its array of keys, knobs and pedals and looked to each side of the boat, at the magical tiered and gilded candelabra that rose from beneath the still green water to impossibly come alight and add their own flames to what appeared to be a dwelling place at the harbor's edge, all aglow. Everywhere, there was such repetition of candle, fire, and lamp, as if in a bold attempt to bring daylight so far beneath the earth.
A mystical place of fantasy and dreams, and Christine had to wonder if, indeed, she might be dreaming...
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Once her song came to an end, the Phantom brought his gondola to moor on the bank and nimbly jumped to the narrow shore, propping the long pole against the cavern wall. She watched with a dazed sense of awe as he swirled the long, heavy cloak from around his shoulders and onto the ground with refined grace, then glanced back at her before turning his attention to where his steps took him, up a short set of stone stairs.
In a whispery voice that caused her spine to tingle and not altogether comfortably, he addressed her, "I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne, to this kingdom where all must pay homage to music…"
She stared in shock to hear him speak to her as if he was a messenger that delivered her to an imperial realm. He moved to his pipe organ, briefly turning his back to her and clutching the edge of the instrument as if suddenly…troubled. But any concern for his quicksilver change of mood, from aloof and confident to anxious and uncertain fled her thoughts as his next words quite took her breath away.
"Music, you have come here, for one purpose and one alone, since the moment I first heard you sing I have needed you with me to serve me to sing for my music, my music…"
Again he addressed her as Music! He sang to her differently, his tone changed, less distant and with tender strength. As the meaning of his words seeped into her startled mind, she looked with wide-eyed wonder around the elaborate grotto, taking a keener study of the furnishings and noting what she had missed before…
A high-backed throne of gold with a crimson cushion stood near the entrance of an open bedchamber. Expensive tapestries of rich-hued thread in crimson and gold hung throughout the cavern. Myriad gold statues depicting royalty and divinity stood on tables and along the walls also veined in red and gold, different from the cave rock outside the chamber. Kings, queens and emperors, as well as demigods, gods and goddesses were displayed, the one exception being a bust of a famous composer, oddly masked, that sat atop the organ next to that of a woman, her head strangely veiled in black, her eyes covered. Heraldic shields stood propped against the rock of a short cliff beneath the organ, pointing to noble ancestry. Splendor and majesty outlined every detail of his hidden home, and the realization of the answer she had long yearned to know nearly made her swoon as the truth of his odd greeting echoed in her mind.
'The seat of sweet Music's throne…to serve me, to sing…for my music…'
She had wondered and pondered and questioned if her mysterious, unseen entity could be both her Angel as well as the Phantom or the mysterious King none had ever seen. To realize he was all three stole any utterance of what she might reply as the distinguished, elegantly-dressed man turned at the top of the stairs and slowly approached the boat, observing her carefully, as if awaiting her reaction to the truth:
Her Angel… the Phantom… the King!
She could not tear her gaze away from his tall form as he moved with feline grace that suggested a wild restraint, his eyes glittering like golden-green jewels, the thoughts of what they concealed a mystery. His hair gleamed sleek as a raven's wing, and a porcelain mask of ivory concealed half his face. What she could see of the left side was pale, his features noble – a straight nose, an appealing mouth, the lower lip fuller than the top, a strong sculpted jaw. Slender of body, perhaps too much so, but clearly not lacking in strength…
This was he who called himself her Angel? A dark angel came the sudden thought. There was something so intense in the look he gave her, both tender and commanding, and as he sang of the nighttime and darkness and heightened sensation she felt riveted to his every move. Not for fear but with a nervous sort of expectation.
And his voice…
His familiar velvet voice, so fluid, so heavenly reached down to the very depths of her soul. Was it any wonder that, sight unseen, she once thought him a celestial being? And now he stood before her, no angel but a man, as she had long hoped…and dreamed.
He extended his gloved hand toward her, his eyes a silent appeal.
Without thought, Christine laid her fingers against his glove as she had at the mirror, startled with the impact so simple and quiet a movement would stir within her core. More intimate now that they were in his home, alone and unchaperoned. And yet, such familiarity felt right...felt natural. She had never seen him before this night, but she had known him for over a decade - longer than that, her heart insisted. As if for all time…
Eyes fixed to him, she stepped out of the boat and walked where he led. He crooked a finger, beckoning her to draw even closer.
The trapped white radiance pulsed brighter, catching her attention, and curiously she turned her head to glance toward the gate, stunned when she felt his gloved fingertips beneath her chin. Gently, he pulled her eyes back around to his.
"Turn your face away," he commanded in his voice of dark liquid gold, "from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light…" He smiled in persuasive pleasure. "And listen to the music of the night…"
While he sang, he led her several steps further then came to a stop, first looking down to his left then to his right. She followed his gaze, again bewildered when she saw a diorama of the theatre with a doll depicting her center stage. The snow-white gown it wore was most certainly a replica of the Empress dress from Act 3, proof that he had arranged for her to wear the gown long before she'd become a stand-in for La Carlotta. Proof that Christine's debut had been the cause of no 'accident.' Proof that he had been behind the falling tapestry and indeed, every incident that led to her public solo performance…
What this all meant or why, she wasn't yet sure, but as soon as the idea came it fled, as his mesmerizing eyes again caught and held hers.
Slowly the Phantom withdrew, keeping hold of her hand while she watched in curiosity. She had undergone a vivid transformation from the girl he'd met in the looking glass, the alteration having begun the moment she stepped beyond its gilt frame. Her hair was no longer up and primly pinned but bouncing in long abandoned ringlets over her shoulders and back, glossy and wild. Her features had achieved a more womanly look, her eyes now pronounced and seductive, her lips wet and cheeks no longer pale but heightened with the same rosy hue. Her entire gown, even her skin sparkled with shimmers of trapped light, as it never sparkled before.
She was as breathtaking as a goddess and as enchanting as an angel…and she was a beautiful woman within his grasp. His to bend to his adoration and will…
He released her and spun on his heel to take the stairs in a jubilant move, coming to a stop and whirling again to face her. Softly he ordered Christine to close her eyes and allow her spirit to soar. He held the last note in booming confidence, his powerful voice moving through her being and singing through her blood, almost burning. In wonder, she again opened her eyes, his words branded across her heart.
King…he was king…of Music.
And he called her Music too.
He approached, again holding out his hand. As if in slow motion she raised her arm to accept his hold and follow where he slowly led, up the stairs to stand in front of his pipe organ. He sang of music caressing and possessing her, all the while staring deeply into her eyes. Making a slow, seductive circle around where she stood, he lifted his hand with an enticing little crook of his gloved fingers.
Heat washed through Christine's veins. She felt somewhat unsteady as he slowly retreated without looking away. Her eyes made a bold sweep of his form from head to toe, and it became more difficult to breathe. She wished he had not again left her side, watching as this Phantom King moved around the bend of the organ to its rear.
And as she watched him, he never once took his eyes off her…
His manner became bolder, almost fierce as he urged her mind to leave this world, to leave all thoughts of the life she had known, to be where she longed to be - and buried deep within the burgeoning desire he stirred inside her heart, she felt a shiver of fear…
Fear of the unknown. Fear to realize his words were true. Fear to ponder what this could all mean...
Her soul acknowledging that she did belong to him.
Having made a full circle around the organ, her Angel again slowly approached from the opposite side, his voice once more growing tender, almost tentative…
"Only then can you belong to me…" He sang the words with a plea in his voice, coming close and lifting his gloved fingers to barely touch her jaw. She looked up at him in anxious expectation, never uttering a word of protest as his fingertips lightly brushed down the sides of her neck, his hands moving to cup her shoulders and turning her so that her back was pressed to his chest.
Oh, sweet mercy…never had she felt like this!
"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication…" His wide palm made a slow, emboldened sweep beneath her breasts, stunning her, while his other hand clutched the curve of her waist. He then swept his touch at an angle down to her side and hip. The path he took burned like fire and she melted against him.
His fingers slipped down to touch her hand, clasping the back of it in his and lifting it to press her palm to the unmasked portion of his face. Another rush of heat washed through her, her eyes fluttering closed as for the first time she felt the warmth of his skin, the soft stubble of his jaw…
The man behind the mask.
Feelings already in sweet turmoil, never before experienced, coiled within her belly…a breathless and restless surge of energy…a warmth and stirring so intense it was almost a discomfort…her heart raced beneath his touch along with the insatiable desire to get even closer to him. Was this desire?
"Touch me, trust me," he crooned in gentle encouragement, "Savour each sensation…"
She turned her head eagerly against his shoulder, to do as he bid.
The Maestro took a sudden step back, more than a little uneasy to experience such closeness with another mortal for the first time in his existence – with her. Still, in his elation, he could not release her hand; nor did he wish to. And he held it tenderly in both of his.
She cocked her head a little in smiling confusion that he acted contrary to the words he sang, urging her surrender then himself retreating. He enthusiastically continued to persuade her to let the dream begin and give in to his music of the night.
She was his Angel… his queen – and oh, how he yearned for her to share in this destiny appointed for them, silently begging her consent and ignoring the warning that whispered into his mind from the shadows – that she was not yet ready. That she was an innocent and he was taking things much too swiftly; that he must wait...
But he had no wish to wait, and by her enthused reaction, she wanted this as much as he did. At the knowledge, he yearned to unveil all he planned for their future together.
He led her down the opposite steps. Willingly she followed, a soft smile on her lips, her eyes shining in adoration. The candlelight seemed to grow brighter, even as the tall lamp standing in the corner briefly lost its flame when he passed by it, while the half mask slipped lower from his bust atop the organ, the black band holding it in place thinner than before… the dark spirit that forever sought control growing weaker as the man within emerged to become stronger…
He gently brought her around by the hand as she continued to stare into his eyes with that sweet, trusting smile, until she shifted her attention in front of her to the grotto where he had led.
Christine stared, at first not comprehending that the mannequin placed there had, to her eyes, become real and not only real – but an exact replica of her face and form in a wedding dress and veil! Her jaw softly dropped in shock before the world began to spin and darken until the breath left her body.
Feeling her dangerously sway, the Phantom grabbed her just as she slumped into a faint and barely caught her before she hit the ground.
Fool, he berated himself as he shifted her weight in his arms and brought her up against his chest so that he could carry her. He had acted too swiftly, frightened her once again with his plan for their future, frightened her so terribly that she had fainted from the very idea of becoming his bride, from seeing herself in the dress as he had willed her mind to perceive…
He took her along the path to the gold Phoenix bed, the frame of which was a clamshell of silver, and laid her upon the violet and rose-colored velvet sheeting. So close to his Angel when a barrier of rock eternally separated them before, he could not immediately bring himself to leave her side as she lay insensible. Tenderly he sang to her, as a lullaby, stroking the delicate curve of her jaw, wishing he had courage to do so without the glove, until he forced himself to pull back and straightened to stand.
Taking a few steps in retreat, he couldn't bear to look away from her lovely features, even as he pulled the lever that brought down the filmy black curtains which shielded the bed.
He watched her through the gossamer weave as she lay in sweet repose…so peaceful. So beautiful. The other half of his soul and the melody of his heart.
Could she ever accept much less understand this destiny that was theirs to share? He had bestowed to her a part of his spirit - and in that sense, they were already one. More to the point, could he keep the illusion of grandeur alive in her eyes and the love that burned for her branded deep inside her heart? Or were the encroaching shadows too powerful and determined... a villainous plague intent on blotting out all that was meant to be good…
Trapped into this Hades of an underground, he could never venture to live above, in a world that mocked and reviled him. He must do all within the realm of possibility to make his home pleasant for her sake. Christine simply must agree to stay and live with him here, as his queen, as the shadows whispered was the sole manner in which their reign together could commence.
He again felt their familiar tug, the dark urging to submit to the wretched and inexorable pull, but now that at last he had his beloved with him, the man inside stood firm and resisted.
He would resume as he saw fit. She would not refuse her Angel, though it was his heart's desire that she come to accept the man.
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A/N: Thank you again for the reviews! :) Just a note- I'll be posting a short prologue of my PotO/ Man in the Iron Mask story this weekend, so those interested, keep a lookout ...