Authoress: Hello again! I am so sorry for not posting for the last 2 weeks, I could not control it. My internet decided to crash on me for an entire week, and here in real life, things are really hectic. (Any I know that is such a lame excuse, but it is true.)

Anyways, I have a review from a Guest to reply to.

Erik: Yes, the amusing one about me dying. Do not worry, Guest, I will not die.

Authoress: At least, not anytime soon.

Erik: What?!

Authoress: *snickers* Your face is hilarious.

Erik: Shut up.

Authoress: I refuse to. Anyways, I'm going to keep the readers in the dark for the few next chapters, as I will try to catch up this week, so be prepared for massive progression ... Please remember to leave your amusing panic attacks in the reviews. Take it away, Phantom!

Erik: Hmph. The Authoress does not own anything that may be considered copyrighted, including Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, and any other musicals mentioned. All she owns is her OC.

Erik POV

Most nights of sleep were plagued with nightmares, and this was no exception. Even though he had fainted, the skeletons in his closet were too numerous to be contained for even one night.

I was first in a green valley, sitting in front of a beautiful organ. I looked down, and I was in my usual attire, suit, and white bow tie. I pressed my fingers gingerly to middle C and continued to play a simple melody. His muse's song was there, inside the organ. His music grew from a sweet pentatonic scale to a thundering song full of mystery and love. He closed his eyes. Never had he heard such power in music, much less his own.

Then the music turned to screams. My eyes flew open, and I looked down at my bloody hands and suit, then at the writhing girl strapped to a dirty wooden table. She was screaming as hard as she could, but her stomach was open and ready for torture.

No, no, no, no, no, he thought, I cannot be back in Persia. I was in the Opera House-

His thoughts were interrupted by the girl's- one of his previous victims- pleas. "Please, please, don't kill me," she sobbed, in a blend of Amethyst's, Christine's, and his mother's voice. He looked to her face, something he had never had the courage to do before, and found all the cruel features of his mother, but the beautiful eyes of the two women who tortured him with their beauty.

He looked around the dark and musty room. There were no guards on this execution, thank goodness. He quickly sewed her up, ignoring the screams, and unstrapped her. He helped her up, then practically carried her to the steel door, and ran through the castle's halls, making it to a secret corridor before the guards could do anything.

As soon as he closed the glass divider between him and the halls, he heard slurred laughing. He flinched. It was his mother's dreaded drunk excitement. It always meant that a beating was to come. His surroundings shifted to the tiny and bare attic that had served as his bedroom. His mother's footsteps echoed up the stairs. She opened the door, whip in one hand, bottle in the other. And look, she had brought another lover to laugh as she beat me to unconsciousness.

This one was incredibly handsome. His blue eyes and blond eyes were set perfectly on his pale, flushed face. He assumed the man had to be extremely cruel to have made it this far, otherwise, she would have kicked him out.

She stepped up to the dirty, matted straw that served as my bed, and yanked painfully what little hair I had at five, and flipped me onto my back. I heard the whip whistle through the air before it struck my back painfully.

After about 20 lashes, he heard an ethereal singing. My mother and her lover stopped taking turns whipping me and stared in wonder at the dark house suddenly bursting with sunlight.

Wait, I recognized that voice...and that language. It was the strange language Amethyst had first spoken in when she appeared in front of Christine's dressing room mirror. He let the strange syllables envelop him and heal his wounds. Suddenly, his mother turned back to him and whipped him one last time, and his eyes jolted open.

He was dreaming, thank God. He saw Amethyst, singing in front of the large bed, her back turned to me. She reached a higher tempo, and I closed my eyes and let the music envelop me as it had in my dream. It was not from an opera, but rather a musical, as the mix of music and singing was apparent.

Then the high note was sung. It was very strained, but with training, it would be pitch perfect. I could tell that she flinched when she sang it, so she could tell that her voice had given out. At least his prospective student didn't have an inflated ego. She knew that her voice had limits and that sometimes she could not cross those limits.

When the last note had been sung, he gave her praise as he had done with Christine:

"Brava, Brava, Bravissima…"

Authoress: There you have it, the first chapter in two weeks. I am really sorry about that, and hope to have the next two up by Sunday, but nobody's perfect.

Erik: *cough*

Authoress: Not even a certain Opera Ghost that is in my presence. You tried to kill Raoul, remember?

Erik: Did not! My lasso just...went around his neck...

Authoress: And I suppose it just tightened itself and nearly strangled him while you two were making out, too?

Erik: *silence*

Authoress: Exactly. But, readers, please remember to review, favorite, follow, and PM me if you have any questions. Who knows, maybe you will inspire me to write another chapter today! (Also, make sure you are signed in when you review/PM me because I would like to respond certain questions, and when there is a Guest, I cannot do so. I would love it if I could have a conversation with my readers.)