This chapter has been squeezed out of me by mon ami SaVrAiNoiR…she has been with me since the beginning, thank you! She is a very talented writer, make sure you check out her work! Sorry for waiting so long to update, so much has happened in my life…my muse deserted me for a while as well! But now it is back, and I am ready to continue my little story. Thank you all my dedicated readers! Also thank you Sincerely Ro Mance for giving me the idea to use the deleted scene for this chapter! I will still be writing the previous chapter in Erik's perspective, but I need a calling from my muse…because without that I will not give you quality. Now my dear readers, without you my writing would suffer. Enjoy!

PryingPandora

Strange feelings

VI.

Deep under the earth, deep under His opera house the Phantom paced, slowly coming to a halt and kneeling before the water's edge. Faint mist swirls up from the lake, a faint chill creeping up his spine.

In a crouch he placed his head in his hands, his mind swirling and his heart painful.

Why would she try such a thing? Did she want to hurt me? NO….she…she cares for me. I saw her tears after she thought I had left. Were those for herself? Were they for the fact that I had cursed at her? No…she was weeping for me…right?

It had been four of the five days since he had seen her last, since she had tried to unmask him, since he had last seen her, sobbing, in her dark dressing room. He had spent each of these damned nights and days wandering, pacing, thinking of what he shall do.

She will learn to love me…if she doesn't already.

Quickly he banished the thoughts, rubbing his temples, his heart screaming for him to go up to the surface, to catch even just a glimpse of Christine's delicate form, to let her know he was there.

With a deep sigh, he began to sing, pouring his heart into his song, all the sorrow he had carried for his life distinctly audible.

"No one would listen…No one but her….heard as the outcast hears."

He skims his fingers along the surface of the water, the only sound in the cavernous place the sound of the water dripping off his fingers. Still in a crouch, he continues to sing, his voice almost dripping with sorrow.

"Shamed into solitude. Shunned by the multitude…..I learned to listen. In my dark, my heart heard music."

Slowly he stands, his lithe form rising to his full height, turning away from the swirling mist and darkness he strode toward his beloved organ, "I longed to teach the world, rise up and reach the world. No one would listen…..I alone could hear the music", softly swiping his fingers across the keys, he carried himself toward the wall covered in the sketches he had created of his beauty Christine. "Then at last, a voice in the gloom, seemed to cry "I hear you!"

Gently he touched one of the pictures, caressing the side of her face, his heart filling with a strange sensation…one he had never felt before. " I hear your fears, your torment and your tears."

Turning slowly away from the wall he strode to a small table strewn with pages covered in scrawl, mostly his ideas for a new aria. Placed lovingly on top of the pages was a red rose, opon which he had lovingly tied his calling card, a black satin ribbon. Picking it up, he fingers the petals lightly, his voice almost quiet in the gloom.

"She saw my loneliness….shared in my emptiness. No one would listen, no one but her"

His heart heaving he turns from the table, his face washed with the light of the candles, he slowly drops himself into his velvet lined chair, still thinking, still singing his heart out. Turning the rose over in his hands, it almost a personification of Christine's love and her beauty. His voice a soft murmur, "Heard as the outcast hears."

Slowly he brings the rose up to his lips, its velvet petals caressing his scarred flesh, his heart wishing to feel the caress of Christine's lips, imagining that Christine's caress would be much like the rose's. Sighing heavily he lays the rose down upon a side table, his voice barely a whisper, his heart swelling and tears stinging the back of his throat.

"No one would listen…no one but her. Heard as the outcast hears..."

Placing his hands over his face, the tears breaking through his resolve. Sobbing softly, alone in his cavernous home, the Phantom cries, his heart aching to see his muse, his love, his life…his Christine.

Through the murk and darkness of his tomb he could hear the managers squawking, a terrible form of singing he supposed. Then he heard La Carlotta's dying croak. They spoke of blasphemy...of La Carlotta being the lead in his newest aria….against his word. Drying his tears quickly, the rage inside him growing.

HOW DARE THEY SPEAK OF SUCH A THING? DID I NOT INSTRUCT THEM THAT CHRISTINE WAS TO BE COUNTESS? HOW DARE THEY DISOBEY ME?

Snatching up his cloak he swirled it about him, clothing himself in darkness. Storming into the gondola, he shoves away from the rock, a sudden gust of wind sweeping into the cavern, blowing out many of the candles, bathing the Phantom in semi darkness. His face etched into a glower, a scary play of light skirting across his normally handsome features, looking every inch the dead and haunted Phantom he portrays.

They will pay…pay dearly.