Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Both Raoul and Erik reach their breaking points in a life hid behind masks.

Warning(s): bad language (partly the author's fault)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: I just realized that these two chapters really seem a lot like AMFAO chapters (don't make me write out the title! --'). So no story notes. Thanks for everyone who reviewed. To the first few reviewers:

psychonerd5 – yeah, I really made Philippe a bastard in this one. I should have put it in the 'warnings' when I first posted, but I corrected that error. Raoul angst is just too tempting. Thanks for both your reviews (the one for AMFAO)
xdark.flowerx – Raoul does get picked on by everyone, but we do it out of love! Thanks for your feedback on the beta, too.
PuppetofDreams – I think I know the feeling… I break out in smiles when I see a review in! Hope this update was quick enough, right:o)
whatevergirl – I had just outlined about half of the story and I am entirely brutal to Raoul in this fic. He needs more hugs! I'm almost reluctant to do it to him, but not really. Thanks for the review!

Story note… I guess I do have one:
Christine – she's not stupid in this one. It's amazing, but she still is a bitch. One day I may write a story in which she's a good character, but not right now.
General – I am taking major liberties in this fic. I just want to remind you of that fact. I don't know Christine's past, or Raoul's for that matter, or much of anything besides what I remember from the movie and onstage.

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 02

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Erik's POV

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I sat at my organ, eyes closed and my fingers drifting across the keys, though it was more like pounding on the keys. I was frustrated. I had been working for five months non-stop on this opera and it was almost complete. Almost. Almost, but not quite. That word was driving me insane. I was almost done. Every note I played, every word I sang was horrible. It was almost what I wanted. It was not what I was looking for though. I would accept nothing but perfection. I would not allow myself to do any less than the best. I would not let Don Juan Triumphant be lacking in such an important scene.

Nothing was working though. Nothing sounded correct. There were only so many keys and I knew every note combination in my head, yet nothing seemed to fit. This song I was writing seemed to call for all the passion I had within me, but there was nothing there any more. I was losing my inspiration. I was losing the drive that had carried me through the last five months… that had carried me through the past six days without sleep.

I was exhausted, but I could not sleep. Whenever I slept, I saw them on that rooftop. Whenever I stopped for just a moment to think, I saw them on that rooftop. I saw the kiss. I saw her betray me. I saw my life laid in front of me. I saw it all. I saw loneliness, hatred, and pain. I saw pain the clearest.

I saw all those things, but that was not the reason I feared stopping. I was used to all those things. I wanted to escape from them but I knew them intimately enough to know that running from them would do me no good. I did not want to sleep. I did not want to stop working because I had been having doubts. I had so much anger the first four months that I could think of nothing but my hatred and my desire to get Christine back. I slept, ate, and worked within that mindset. It consumed me completely. I did not leave my home. I barely left my organ. The only reason I had food or even ate was because of Madame Giry. I would not let her in but she would leave food as far as she could take the paths she knew.

Then, a month ago, it happened. I had been asleep and I dreamt of that rooftop again. It was a recurring dream that only really served to drive me forward. It spurred the inspiration I needed to work so hard on the opera. It had given me ideas and the plot.

Not this time though. I was behind that horse statue, listening to Christine's and Raoul's passionate song of love and devotion. I listened to their hopes and I did not feel the anger or the betrayal. I was looking at her and I felt nothing. She looked back at me, more like past me, and it was like looking at someone I did not know. However, I did know her. It was as though up until that moment, I had only been seeing my concept of her. I had never really seen her. Then, I looked at Raoul and something startled me, but I could never remember what I saw that did so. I took a step backwards and it felt as though I had fallen off the roof. I woke up then.

I had tried so hard to remember what I had seen that made me fall, but the only thing I could remember clearly from that dream was Christine. I could only see her. It was this dream that drove me away from my work. I raced to her room and just stood there watching her. I saw her and I felt my old doubts about her climbing up to the surface. I wanted that life, did I not? I wanted her because she would be the only person I could possibly have. I wanted her to see me and to trust that I was more than just a monster with a broken past.

I had returned down to my organ and continued to compose. The month passed with me clinging onto that hope, that desire. I was working with old anger and shallow hopes. It was like before, but not quite, almost. My hatred and passion had dimmed to something that was a shadow of what it once was. My inspiration dwindled. I managed to push forward though. I managed to make headway with my opera. I ate only when I could feel the fatigue and hunger slow me down. I slept only as much as I needed to.

My sleep was disrupted. I was having a long bout with a twisted kind of insomnia. Every time I drifted asleep, I would be jolted awake by a falling dream. It was no random falling dream. It was the ending to that dream – the fall that had been the result of seeing dream-Raoul. Now, I could not sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time. I struggled against sleeping after a while because I hated the feeling of helplessness that came with the dream. I hated waking up with my stomach in my throat, my heart racing and a yell dying on my lips. I could not work for at least an hour after waking because I would be on edge. My heart would refuse to slow down, and my hands would shake violently. I resolved to not fall asleep again.

However, I could not rest either. Whenever I let my mind wander, I would think about Christine and him. I would start to wonder if I loved Christine as much as the Vicomte seemed to. I wondered about their future because I did not want to think of my own. Christine had betrayed me, and yet I was still pining for her. Not so much pining, as I was trying to take back what I wanted. What I wanted though did not seem to be what Christine was. I wanted someone to see past the deformity, the past, and the cold exterior demeanor. I knew I was different from those who lived in the light, but I was no monster. I wanted someone to be with me. I needed someone to see me. Christine did not provide me what I wanted… well, almost. She almost was everything I wanted. She knew what I looked like but she knew my voice could let her soul sour. She was attracted to that. Maybe that attraction was enough. Maybe it would be enough of a passage to let her see the true me. To see past the monster and the mask and the face that had me hidden from the whole world. She had seen my sadness and my plea for help. She had seen it and almost responded. Almost. Almost, before fleeing to the Vicomte. If that was any indication, she would only ever almost save me.

I tried not to let these thoughts continue because I was writing this opera in order to take Christine back. I could not lose my desire to have her or else I would not be able to finish my opera. However, that did not seem to matter anymore. I could not write. I could not make the notes flow like it normally did from my fingertips. The music was attached to my heart. Everything I felt flowed from it to the keys. I was lost because my love for Christine was lost. I no longer loved her, and my desire to have her was waning as well. It did not bode well.

I decided to leave my home again. It had been a month since I was last above ground. I stretched my muscles and tried to shake off the need to go to sleep. I considered allowing myself some rest in hopes that I would not be woken up twenty minutes later, but the last time I fell asleep had been one of the worst. I did not calm down for three hours. I sat on the shore staring at the water. I watched the candlelight dance upon the lake while I cradled my shaking hands. My breaths were short and I started to feel lightheaded, but luckily, it faded. I thought I was going to die. Almost did.

I walked faster. The further away from my home I got, the less suffocated I started to feel. I did not really know where I was headed, but the movement was starting to make me feel better. Following the familiar paths made me feel like myself again. I stopped walking immediately. It 'made me feel like myself again'? I was trying to stop being the phantom. I was trying to stop being the monster. I was trying to stop being the villain. Yet, I was all those things. They were roles I could not seem to escape. They were roles I just played without any consideration. It could not be who I was. There had to be someone I would have been had I not had this deformity. There had to be someone I could have been and could still be even with my current circumstances.

Frustrated, I screamed as loudly as I could. It echoed down the empty passageway. As if in reply, I heard a chorus of screams from beyond the wall I was standing by. I looked at the wall and realized it was an exit I rarely took because it led directly into a hallway. Hallways were not exits I took often because they were the most revealing place from which to emerge. I leaned my ear to the frame and listened closely.

"Was that?" One of the chorus girls asked.

Of course, I thought to myself, it would be chorus girls. They always screamed at the slightest indication of my existence. Although I would admit, my scream was anything but slight. If they were wandering the hallways, it was either in the morning or in the evening. Since they rarely traveled through the opera house at night because of the opera ghost circumstance, I was able to at least discern the time of day. I always lost track of time in front of my organ, but especially now so since I had not slept in days.

"It was the opera ghost, of course." Another said as though it was stupid to think otherwise.

I had to agree with her. Who else could it have been?

"That murderer? I thought he had left for good."

"Shh, don't say things like that. He's probably listening right now."

"He murdered already. That monster!"

"Of course, you've heard about his face haven't you?"

"Horrible deformity. No nose. It's ghastly."

"I think you're only saying that because we just saw the Vicomte," she giggled, "Rich and handsome. Anyone compared to that would be considered a monster."

"Nope. He's just a monster. It's a fact of the opera house."

I felt the urge to rip that painting from the wall and wring my hands around that little opera rat's neck. Maybe I could kill all of them. Instead, I continued to walk. I was no monster. I pushed forward. Maybe I would go outside to get a breath of fresh air. I needed to calm down.

Taking a passageway past the managers' office, I paused to see what they were planning.

"We really need the Vicomte's signature on this," Andre indicated to a piece of paper.

Firmin nodded dismissively. He was looking through some documents and didn't bother to look up, "You heard the man though. He said that we should not bother him until after lunch."

Andre started to pace. He looked around suspiciously before leaning forward. I leaned forward as well in anticipation. "Do you think he is having an affair with Mlle. Daae?"

"Of course they are," Firmin said. "The Vicomte has been here everyday." As an afterthought he added, "Although he has been with us most of the time and the rest of the time he was overseeing and helping with the construction."

Both managers paused to think about this.

"Hah," Andre exclaimed, "We were probably mistaken. They show no affection for each other than the friendship he had once mentioned."

Firmin shrugged. I could tell he still had doubts about whether the Vicomte and Christine were more than friends.

This was interesting news though. I had holed myself in the cellar of the opera house so that I had not been keeping track of the Vicomte's whereabouts. So, the boy had been traipsing around my opera house unhindered. I would have to remedy that eventually. Moreover, I was surprised that they had not announced their engagement. If Andre and Firmin did not know about it, then I doubted that anyone else would. The managers liked to be well informed of the events occurring in the Opera Populaire, especially if it could affect their money flow. I wondered why after the affection they showed each other on the rooftop that night they would not announce their engagement. I had thought that they would run away and go off to elope. Seeing as that did not happen, it was strange that they had not at least made it known.

However, the more interesting of news was the fact that the Vicomte and Christine were not spending much time together. Unless they were really good at hiding it, I believed the managers when they said that the patron had not been spending more than appropriate time with my pupil. I wondered whose doing it was. Was it because Raoul did not want others to know? Or was it because Christine did not really want to marry the Vicomte? There were a million reasons they might not be spending time together, but I could hope that it was the latter of my thoughts. It would be much easier to steal Christine away if she was willing. I doubted that she would be completely willing though. From what I could tell, Christine was probably just reluctant to announce it. I had been a very large presence in her life and this was a big decision for her. She knew I would know. She knew that I would catch wind of their engagement and she did not want to anger me further with announcing it publicly.

It was difficult to explain why I would come to this conclusion. Christine thought about me. She thought about me enough to give me hope, but it was not the way I wanted. She thought of me, thought of her angel before she made any actions because I was a tool. I was merely a vehicle for her to obtain her dreams. I had always been her angel. The one promised by her father because it was convenient for her to believe that was who I was. It had been convenient for me at the time to be an angel as well, but I did not want to keep that pretense up. She would never allow it to fall though. She would not see beyond that, and I knew I could manipulate her with it. I could manipulate her with my voice and she would follow. I could do it, but I could not keep the pretense up forever. I could not be an angel – not in pretending and definitely not in real life. It was not who I was and I refused to be forever seen that way. I could only handle so many lies.

Surprisingly enough though, Christine was calculating. I had not realized it until that dream. All the information was there in front of my eyes, but I ignored them. I did not want to think of her as such. She was not as innocent as everyone thought she was. She was not stupid. I had realized too late that she had manipulated me as well. I had let it pass since I had done the same to her, but she could act. She could act the part of the hesitant singer, the damsel in distress, the repentant student, the awestruck girl when in fact she was merely reacting to your actions in a way to get the reaction she wanted.

I had not wanted to show myself to her. I had not been ready, but when she apologized and asked to see me. She made it seem and sound as though it had been originally my idea. I was stupid enough to think it had been my idea. I thought the only reason I was not revealing myself to her was because she was not ready. That was not the case at all. I had not been ready. Then for some reason, I had been convinced that she would see past my face and she didn't. I had definitely not been ready to take her to my lair.

I knew everything about Christine. I watched her constantly. I knew the little girl who had come here as an orphan – who had played the orphan card to be welcomed with open arms to the Opera Populaire, who could make the most pitiful face and cry on command, but who also only really cried to herself at nights, and who had smiled cheerfully and acted as though she had not lost the only family she had a mere few days later. I knew the young girl who I tutored to sing like an angel – who knew not to anger me, who knew the words to say so that I would comfort her when I wanted to scold her, who flattered me often when she was behaving poorly and not putting enough effort into her singing, who knew I was no angel, but who also knew I could cultivate a voice in her that no one else alive would be able to do. I knew the young woman she had become. She was intelligent and beautiful. She was also self-absorbed and a manipulative opportunist. She knew how to play the ultimate role. She could be whoever you wanted her to be, as long as it benefited her.

What did I want with her? What could she provide me? But I knew the answer to that. As long as I could provide her my voice, she would be who I wanted her to be. It would be perfect… almost.

I got pulled out of my thoughts when Andre began to speak again.

"About this masquerade," Andre began tentatively, "do we really need the Vicomte's money?"

Firmin raised an eyebrow at him.

"Considering the fact that we don't have to pay that monster anymore," Andre trailed off.

"Don't say things like that," Firmin chided, "He could be listening."

"Oh," Andre waved it off, "He has yet to show himself in five months. He is a monster. He is no longer asking for payment. Those are just facts."

I watched this all in a detached manner. I felt no anger right now actually. My mind was half on my previous thoughts of Christine. I shoved those back in order to pay attention. However, I could already feel a plan hatching. A masquerade was a perfect place to have a grand entrance, to make my grand entrance. It was perfect timing too – that was, as long as I could finish my opera before then. I felt like yelling again. I was almost done, but I knew that right at this moment as I was, I would not be able to complete it satisfactorily.

"We may not need the Vicomte's money right now, but in the future we will probably need the money he's providing," Firmin stated, "He does not need to know we have enough money saved."

Andre nodded acquiescently. I could tell he was unsure about lying to their major contributor, but he would not say anything. He trusted Firmin enough.

Firmin added seeing that Andre was not entirely convinced, "It's for a rainy day, Andre.

That settled it. It was going to be a very interesting masquerade. I knew that these managers were ruthless businessmen, but I had not realized they were also unscrupulous. They would need to be taught a lesson. I left before I could do something unhealthy to them. It was tempting, but I knew I had to wait until the masquerade because that would be the culmination of my time and effort. It would be perfect.

I was feeling less weighed down as I had before, but now I was agitated. First, the chorus girls had managed to annoy me and then, the managers anger me. I could feel some of that familiar passion returning, but it was not enough. I could not hear the music in my head. I could not write. Not yet at least.

I continued on my way to my original destination. I headed to the roof.

If I wanted to move forward, I would have to find a way to move beyond that defining moment on the rooftop. I would need to see that there was nothing left there but my memories – memories that would fade in time. I had a future to build. I had a new person to become, and I could not allow myself to be dragged down by a past that I had no control over. I would control who I was. I would now control the person I became.

I paused in front of the door that led to the roof. It was one thing to say these things to myself, but it was another thing to step onto the roof where I vowed to have my revenge against those people who so utterly destroyed a large part of who I had been. They had destroyed my hopes. They had shattered my future, and unknowingly, too. At least unknowingly for the Vicomte, but as for Christine, she knew I was there. She did not care. She might though. She might have cared enough to try to keep it a secret. She might not care though. My hand hesitated and hovered above the door handle.

I would not let my doubts cloud my mind. I had to push forward.

I opened the door and suddenly felt a wave of vertigo hit me. The floor spun around me. I clung to the door desperately. It swung forward and I stumbled forward as well onto the rooftop. The door closed with a loud BANG! It echoed loudly in my ears. Words echoed loudly in my ears. I'm here. I stumbled and tried to keep my balance. Nothing can… I thought I saw someone standing there watching me. …can harm you. Instead, I saw the horse statue prancing before my eyes. Promise me. Words echoing. All I want. I could feel myself tilting. Your shelter. I held my hands out to break my fall, but I landed on my side instead. You're safe. I skidded to a halt and still the ground was not still. Beside me. It felt as though I was riding a horse. Anywhere you go. Up and down. Hold me. I needed the words to stop. Hide me. The words needed to stop. Say the words. Up and down. Each day. The statues danced around me. Each night. I could feel the nausea rising up. Each morning. I grabbed my head, but it steadied nothing. I ask of you. It quieted nothing. Let… I looked up, and belatedly realized that was a stupid idea. Me… I felt even dizzier. Be… The blue sky was bright to my eyes. Your… My eyes watered, and I told myself it was because of the sun, because of the nausea. Freedom. It blinded me for a moment and it was only in that moment that everything stopped moving. Freedom.

I laid on the floor incapacitated. I didn't care if anyone found me. I had no such worries. I was torn between grabbing my head and my stomach. I felt the dizziness ready to resurface and I did not want to move at all. I did not want to provoke it. I rolled myself to lie on my back though. The world spun momentarily before righting itself again. I could feel blood dripping down my face and hands from the fall. I had to fall on the side of my face that didn't have the porcelain mask on it. I had to scrape the side of my face that was actually normal.

Freedom.

I stared at the sky. It had saved me. The sky, the light saved me. I didn't know what to think. I tried not to actually. I feared the thoughts would disrupt my mind again.

Freedom.

I realized belatedly my breaths were shaky. I laughed deprecatingly at myself. So much for getting a breath of fresh air. That was worse than the falling dreams. It might have actually only tied. I could feel my body calming already. The recovery time for those dreams were worse, but at least falling didn't last that long and didn't mess with my mind.

Freedom.

Was that freedom? The words I had heard had haunted me ever since that night. Haunted my dreams. Haunted my thoughts. Haunted my every breath. To have those words spoken to me would be… it would be… it would be a nice dream to have come true.

My heart slowed down to normal. I still stared at the sky. I was reluctant to move. I forced myself to sit up anyway. I looked around the empty roof quickly scanning as I suddenly realized that I could have been caught. No one was around though. I looked around more slowly and was surprised when I felt nothing but relief. The experience had erased my feelings towards that night. I stared at the exact spot they had declared their love for one another. I saw the image in my head.

I felt nothing but a slight jealousy. Not of the Vicomte though. Maybe of Christine. To have those words spoken to me would be incredible. To have that love and devotion. To have anyone would be nice. I stared at the empty spot and could imagine them in each other's arms.

Devotion.

Love.

Freedom.

I stood up and brushed off the dust and pebbles that I had on me. I could ignore the blood. It didn't hurt very much either.

I felt strange – kind of empty and open. I didn't feel any hatred, pain, anger, sadness, or jealousy. It was as if my mind was clear. For the first time in my life, I realized there were others I could have. I was certain that I didn't want Christine. I could have someone else – someone who was everything I wanted.

Let me be your freedom.

I shook my head. Who else could I have? Who else would have me? I would have Christine. I had to or else I would be alone for the rest of my life. I felt the clarity leave, but I would rather be practical and have someone than clear headed and alone. It was a fact, was it not? I was a monster. Christine was the only one who had seen me and still had something nice to say about me. She had to be the one.

I had to finish my opera. To find my inspiration, I decided to stop by her room. Heading out, I looked back one more time. Still nothing, but I felt a little remorse for letting myself return to person I had once been. I promised to myself that I would return here and find the clarity I wanted. I would change after I finished this opera. I feared that without my anger, without my jealousy and passion, I would not be able to finish my opera. I would not be who I was. I would lose the talent I had. Artists found their voice through their pain and if I had clarity, where would the words come from? Where would the notes come from? For the moment, I would let myself be the monster. I would let myself be the villain. I needed to finish this opera. Then, I could become the person I wanted to be.

I nodded to myself and shut the door reluctantly. I did not think clarity would be there the next time I opened the door. It already felt lost to me. I suddenly felt lost.

But I knew where I was heading. I was heading to Christine's room to find some inspiration. She was my inspiration, wasn't she? She was the reason I needed to finish this opera. She was my goal. She was my freedom… almost.

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End ch02

word count: 4,804

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

I know I said that they wouldn't be interacting yet, and they won't, but just to let you know, there will be some better action coming soon, though I thought this chapter was interesting.

What else? I was going to say… Ahh… I'm busy this weekend. Like really busy. Which is the main reason why I'm posting this one right now because even though my week is a little lighter than last week (it's actually a lot lighter), this weekend is going to be hard for me to get any writing done. It's going to be horrible and impossible actually. So it's either finish this now and try to get another chapter in before Friday or you'll just have to wait until next week (which is also going to suck, but at least that weekend will be free… they seem to interchange in suckiness). I don't know how fast I can write and how much I will, so it'll be a crapshoot, okay? Just wanted you to know. This chapter was pretty quick, but an update will be difficult to achieve.