-Ten years ago, 1881-

Five cellars below the Opera Populaire

Christine awoke to the gentle jingle tune and cymbal chimes. Looking up she stared back at a music box, shaped like a monkey adorned in Persian robes.

I remember there was mist, swirling mist across a vast glassy lake

She realised glancing around, she was in a bedroom. But not her own room, in her small flat it was a tiny room with only a few valued pieces she had come to own. This room was fit for a queen.

The bed she laid upon was cushioned and warm, her slumber felt light floating upon a cloud. The walls were draped in layers of velvet, the furniture was lavish and articulate in design. Christine could see a shelving of several shoes, all of them beautiful with beading and varying colours. On the vanity were more trinkets, they made Christine think of all the times she'd walked passed the jewellers. Jewelled necklaces, and pearl earrings lined with gold costing more francs than she could earn within a years work.

Picking up a mirror that sat upon the vanity she turned it over to see the name inscribed in the back.

'Christine'

The brunette blinked, 'Is this all for me?'

There must be some sort of mistake. She was no Vicomtress or queen, she didn't deserve such lavish things as these. Perhaps she ought to seek out her host for more answers.

She opened the door, glancing around through the darkness. She followed the music, as she approached the music boomed ominous and powerful.

The darkness seemed to melt away as she was met by several lit candelabras within a spacious room, passed it she could make out the lake, tied down at the grotto was a gondola.

There were candles all around, and on the lake there was a boat

Looking up to where a large pipe organ was perched on a landing. At the heart of the instrument sat a figure. Their back was to her, Christine crept closer. The figure wore an evening robe made up of blues and golds. She wondered if he had just awoken or perhaps been playing all throughout the night as she slept.

"And in the boat there was a man"

Hearing her voice, he turned. Christine's breath caught in her throat. So it was no dream. Her angel, the phantom. Both one in the same, were a flesh and blood man, the man seated before her.

"Christine," He spoke, standing fully. "I hope you had a restful sleep?"

"I did, monsieur." She nodded, her voice small and unsure.

She cautiously stepped back as he did forward. Seeing her alarm, the Phantom held up a hand.

"I shall not harm you Christine, you have nothing to fear. Please do not shun me."

"It's your voice I've been hearing," It was a statement rather than a question.

"Yes, forgive me for my deceit. I am your teacher, but not an angel."

Christine shook her head, "What am I to call upon you as?"

"I am Erik, no angel or ghost. Just Erik."

Her thoughts swirled taking in all of this new information. That voice for three years she so wholeheartedly believed was one beyond this realm belonged to an earthbound man.

"I'm...I don't know..." She mumbled, Christine feeling a wave of dizzyness. But a strong arm steadied her, Erik coming to her aid before she fell over.

"Please sit down my dear," Erik coaxed her letting her lean upon him, steering her over to a throne like chair situated upon the center of the room.

Christine collected her thoughts, steadying herself sitting up in the chair.

"Why am I here, Monsieur Erik?" She asked as he knelt in front of her.

'Because I love you,' Erik thought but did not dare say.

Instead, clearing his throat he said, "For music. Christine, my dear protege. I need your voice to soar, to sing my music."

"Was that yours I heard just now?" The brunette asked, indicating to the open scattered parchments of sheet music by the pipe organ.

"It was, it is my life's work. Do you like it?"

Christine nodded, clasping her hands together. The music had a frightening air about it, but still it was not unpleasant to the ear.

"But, while your hospitality is quite kind. Surely people will be worried about my disappearance," Christine said, "I must go back and inform everyone I am alright."

The Phantom chuckled. "I have taken liberty of easing this burden for you. They are all informed that you are quite safe. They should be opening my letters right about now."

"But monsieur I-"

His mismatch eyes contorting with worry, he hastily grasped her hands in his. Christine shivered at the ice cold touch.

"Please Christine. I shall return you. But all I ask is a few days." Erik seemed to plead desperately, "My music needs a voice, it needs your voice. Allow your teacher this one favour Christine?"

While she was somewhat frightened, this all happening so fast. Christine also felt her angel's words were sincere. The air he held about him, this man's soul belonged to music and craved it. If he meant her no harm, what would a few days do? He was her trusting teacher for so many years, surely she could trust him.

"Just a few days?" Christine questioned.

"That is all I ask,"

Hesitantly she nodded, "Very well. I must assume you've taken care of my absence in these few days as well?"

"I have, your career is secure Christine. This will not effect it in any way I've made good on this."

Christine smiled, "Alright. If it is music you seek Monsieur, where shall we start?"

For three days and three nights she spent in the Phantom's company. In the time she stayed at his house on the lake she explored and learned so much about her maestro.

His home was filled with fine works of art and antiquities, domestic and foreign in origin. The furniture in his parlour room was lavish just like the ones in what had become her bedroom. Erik had a library consisting of several books. Some fictitious tales, others various scores of past composers, Christine found some were written in a language she did not recognise. Noticing her curiosity he informed her they were Persian, and while he didn't give many details, he did tell her how he had ventured to this foreign land several years ago.

The Siamese that Erik held dear in his home didn't seem to like her very much. The feline didn't seem keen on sharing her masked master's attention with anyone. The brunette took care to avoid Ayesha when she could.

When Christine was not exploring she sang.

While she and Erik's lessons continued down below, so to did the blossoming of more music. It was quite obvious she was a muse for him, an inspiration breathing life into the Phantom's music. Several times she had seen Erik shudder in shaken pleasure as she sang, her voice mesmerising him like that of a siren's call to a sailor at sea.

Christine liked to think she was an intelligent woman. And despite only having been in his company, by the fourth morning she knew very well why Erik truly craved her presence. While the masked man did not lie, their sessions were reflected upon in the score he wrote in between lessons. She knew there was a deeper reason as to why he asked her down here.

On the fourth night she confronted him about it.

"How long have you had that room for?" Christine asked as Erik was gathering up parchment.

His mismatch eyes turned to hers. "I beg your pardon?" He asked quizzically

"My name is engraved on several items in my room. How long have you had it made out for me? Surely you couldn't have done it in a single evening."

Glancing away, Erik's hands holding the paper trembled.

"And the mannequin, the lady in the mirror from the night you brought me here. She has a striking resemblance to me." Standing from the chair she sat at, Christine put a gentle palm on the Phantom's hunched over back. His muscles contorted at the physical contact, she could hear him attempt to hide a shaky sigh.

"Is music all you really sought out when you carried me down here?" She asked.

Erik looked up at her, bringing his head up, they were only inches apart now.

"I cannot lie to you, not again." He confessed. "There is more than music, but I've not said anything about it. Well, my dear, I never imagined you would feel the way I do for you. The... the love I feel for you."

This confession in ways frightened Christine, while she had known her angel over the course of three years, she had only known him as a man for a few days. But could she really call them separate beings by this point? It may have been a facade, but in those years he had touched and infiltrated her soul with music.

Perhaps now her soul was being touched by love.

At least this is what Christine perceived this must be when her face drew closer still until their lips met. His were full and bloated, a malformation of sorts, but felt warm and inviting pressed against her own.

-Present-

Sandalphon had since shut its doors for the evening. Erik enjoyed the solitude. While the sudden encounter with Christine had stirred a want for human companionship once more, he would push aside these mixed emotions. He was keeping his word, and refused to interfere. He let her go so that she could be happy, even if the masked man despised the Vicomte, he would not become the reason for his angel's despair again. It was also for her own safety that he stay away. If he pursued her, he may not be able to stop himself a second time.

Erik walked through the empty foyer up to his chambers, high above in the spacious opera house-Erik had some comfort with the luxury to live above ground.

Turning into a corridor the masked man was sure he had heard something. Not thinking much of it he continued upstairs. But as he settled himself out to focus on his work, an alarm went off. He had several set up in the opera house should vandals come knocking after hours. While he was not prone to impulsive violence as he was years before, he still had the capability to kill should he need to.

It had seemed that in the main auditorium one of his alarms was tripped as a bell continued to ring in his private chambers.

With a sigh, the composer got up and through a secret passage-one of many he included in the redesign of the opera house-Erik entered the empty theatre hall. Over the years Erik had had little incidents with intruders, and was therefore showing next to no concern as to whom it could be.

What he hadn't expected was to hear crying.

Silent in his footsteps, Erik crept toward the whimpers, it sounded like a child. While there were street children whom had no place to call home, it was plausible one of the urchins had managed to sneak in seeking shelter on a cold night.

But when he found a child seated in one of the aisle seats, she did not appear to belong to poverty. The girl was dressed eloquently in what looked like expensive clothing, and her dark curls that cascaded down her head were well kept and groomed.

Slowly, Erik placed a palm on her shoulder, the girl immediately tensed up realising she wasn't alone.

Looking up at him-as she was crying into her palms-Erik saw those eyes again. It was the girl he saw dancing the other day in his halls. While red rimmed from tears, he could never forget those eyes.

"Child, what are you doing here? Why do you cry?" Erik asked, while not being very experienced with children his tone was neutral and soft.

The girl sniffled. "It feels safe and nice here. The music I heard here was so pretty. I'm sorry monsieur! I didn't know where to go. Mama and papa were fighting."

"I see," Erik nodded, "And where are your parents, they must be quite worried for you?"

"I ran away. They were fighting, I think it was about me. I did something bad to make them angry."

The girl burst into more tears, her cries filling the entire auditorium as they bounced off the walls.

Picking her up the masked man attempted to coax the child.

"Shh now don't cry. Shh hush now, no more of that." Being as patient as he could Erik began to hum.

As he did, the girl's cries subsided to a whimper. She still wept, tears staining his shirt, but her cries faded. Erik felt the child's arms around his neck, hugging him tight as he carried her out.

"That's a good girl," Erik said, as the sounds of sadness faded into hiccuping sniffles. "You should go home child."

"Please monsieur, I cannot alone."

"Well now how did you get here if not alone?"

"It wasn't dark, not this dark."

Erik sighed, resigning himself to one option. "And there's no carriages available to take you at this hour. I will escort you then, but you must tell me where your mama and papa are then."

So as read in the flashback portion of this chapter, my Erik is a mismatch mesh of several adapatations. While the Phantom's physicality is primarily based on ALW!Erik from the stage show. But Ayesha is also present, a reference to Susan Kay's "Phantom" novel. The Phantom's lair in the musical I've reintegrated into the house on the lake that Erik from the original Gaston Leroux novel has as well.

Also a notable change. Yes Christine waking up in the Phantom's lair is following with 'I Remember' but here takes place over the course of a few days rather than the next morning following with "Stranger Than You Dreamt It" in the musical.