I don't own any of the lyrics or songs.

Chapter 8 – A Man

Christine

I had to stop writing a few hours ago when Madame Giry came to check on me.

It is not that I do not trust her I just do not want her to know anything other than what I tell her, so I shoved this book quickly under my pillow and out of sight, so now I am writing by candle light.

I did not know what to do as I stood starring at the man in front of me.

I watched as his mouth moved to the words that he was saying, it was my angel but he was not an angel though, was he?

He gestured towards me, reaching out with a gloved hand towards me, beckoning me forward.

I stepped towards him spell bound.

I took in all of him in a second as I began to move towards him.

He stood tall and straight, his frame covered by a long black cloak and from what I could tell he was wearing evening dress underneath. On his face was a mask.

Wait.

A mask.

Yes it was, a white mask covered ones half of his face.

What could it be hiding?

But I did not care; as I continued towards him, he was my angel.

I heard Raoul's voice drifting through my foggy mind, I reached towards the hand that was being offered to me, but I hesitated.

What if I was dreaming?

What if he truly was not real?

What if this was punishment for my thoughts? For me wanting him to be truly real.

I looked in his eyes; they were begging me to take his hand.

I could not deny him, I accepted his hand, and he led me on.

I looked around myself as he drew me forward; I was no longer in the dressing room. How had that happened? Lights surrounded us and I took the opportunity to look at him closely.

Descriptions from stories that I had heard drifting through my mind.

A face the colour of a corpse – the mask.

Merging with the shadows – the cloak.

The Phantom.

My angel was the Opera Ghost.

How was it possible?

I did not know how to speak, how to voice my questions, my uncertainties.

So I sang.

The Opera House is very quiet in between productions and so, to keep ourselves busy we - the members of the chorus - come up with songs of our own, the process eating up the hours by the handful. One such song had been of the Opera Ghost, his haunts and tricks. It was this song that came to my lips.

But he was my angel also so I began by singing of his voice coming to me when I needed it the most (laying alone and tired at night) before singing of the ghost.

"The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind." I sang, his head jerked and he looked at me. I could not read the expression in his eyes as he turned away from me and continued the song.

I lost myself to everything but his voice, joining him, as our voices blended together.

He continued to lead me on and I fell deeper and deeper into his words.

I surfaced momentarily from his spell when he seated me in a boat.

A boat?

Where was I that a boat, no a gondola, was needed to travel?

I looked up at him as he too boarded the vessel and proceeded to propel us along.

Once again I was lost, his words filling me, as he guided the vessel.

We approached an alcove and bars raised themselves up out of the water to reveal a grotto. It was beautiful. The kind of thing that I think would be in fairy tales.

Candelabra rose out of the water and the candles lit themselves, bursting into flame all on their own. Light from more candles filled the cave allowing me to make out a great organ at the far side of the dry ground and a curtained area, concealing something from view.

He asked me to continue singing, so I did; running out if words to express myself as he drew the boat along to the ground and leapt out of the gondola. I watched his every move; hardly believing that after all this time my angel was real, standing before me made of flesh and blood. But he was also the Phantom. I thought about this for a second the thoughts taking form in my head so quickly that to write them all down would take hours.

Should I feel used, tricked, disappointed, angry?

Perhaps I should, but I felt none of these things.

I did not care if he was the Phantom, he was also my angel. He had came to me when I needed him most of all, when I was alone and afraid, and he had spoken to me when I most needed the comfort of another's presence. And after all had I not spent the past months despairing over my wicked thoughts. Wanting him to be real. No he was still the being that I had come to love, and now the voice had a body.

I watched him as he took of his cloak, throwing it to the floor.

My eyes stayed fixed on him as once again he sang. Telling me of 'his world', a world with no light, only darkness. But the darkness was safe was it not, through the years I have always sought sanctuary in the gloominess of the darkened chapel.

He approached me, once again reaching out for me to take his hand. I accepted without hesitation this time and he drew me from the vessel, to stand close in front of him.

I turned to look through the gate where we had just entered. His leather covered hand raised to my face and reached for my chin, turning me back to face him.

His voice once again began to weave its spell as he led me from the water moving closer to the organ. Dozens of candles filled the room, allowing me to see the room clearly but I chose to stare at him, my angel.

I focused on his words.

"Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar."

I did as was requested me and I felt myself being drawn further under his spell.

He led me up steps leading me to just in front of the grand instrument.

He circled me as he sang, but still I could not take my eyes from him, too frightened that if I should he would vanish and I would discover that this had all been a dream.

"Only then, can you belong to me..."

I felt my breath catch at his words; surely he knew that I was his already.

He came back to me reaching towards me with trembling fingers to touch my face, the touch did not last for nearly as long as I would have wished, and his hands drifted down my arms to turn me around. He drew me against his chest and circled my waist I closed my eyes and leaned my head against him. Taking one of my hands he raised it behind me and placed it upon the uncovered side of his face, I slowly turned around.

"Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation." his voice begged me.

He began to lead me on, showing me more of his world.

He drew me towards the curtains, placing me in front of him, he reached around me and pulled, the curtain dropped to the floor.

My mind froze.

There was a mannequin in front of me wearing a wedding dress, behind it there was a mirror just high enough to take in face. Looking at the mirror and with the mannequin hiding my body it looked as though I was wearing the dress.

Suddenly everything had been too much, the premier, Raoul, my angel, the Phantom. Images flashed through my mind as I felt myself fall, I braced myself for meeting the cold hard ground and the pain it would bring, but I never reached the floor.

Even as I write this now I feel so stupid.

How could I faint? Me. Christine Daae.

I have never fainted in my life and it is mortifying to think that I did so in the presence of my angel.

No. Not my angel, but he is...I am so confused. What is he to me?

I will worry about that later, in the meantime my story continues.

I woke up slowly, forgetting where I was and panicking slightly. Then it came back to me.

Carlotta leaving the Opera, my playing the lead, seeing Raoul, being brought here by my angel, no the phantom, the Opera Ghost – here I go again. I do not know what to call him.

My angel, that is still what he is so that is what I shall continue to call him.

I slowly sat up and looked around.

I was in another room and had been lying on a bed - one of the most beautiful items of furniture I have ever seen. It was carved in the shape of a swan each mark had been lovingly placed and at the head board where the wings. It was so detailed that I felt I would feel feathers if touched it.

The sound of the organ playing drifted to me and I stood up slowly and made my way towards the sound.

I was looking down on the grotto.

I could see the boat that had brought me here, the candelabra standing tall in the water with its magical candles and straight ahead of me he was there. Sitting at the instrument he played softly, he paused in his playing and turned. Our eyes met and my breath hitched. What should I do? I was here in the presence of my angel. He turned away from me and began to play again. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath.

Slowly I made my way towards him until I was standing just behind him as he continues to play, his hand dancing over the keys with ease, his masked face bent to his task.

I could no longer resist.

I reached out to touch him, surely there was no sin in one touch – for there was still the fleeting thought at the back of my mind that this was some kind of punishment.

I let my hand rest gently on his shoulder, his head jerked slightly but he made no move to shake me of. Encouraged by this, I took a step to the side to see him better and placed both my hands on his face, running my fingers over the plains of his face, trying to memorise him. His skin was warm and tanned, contrasting strongly with the side of his face covered by the white mask. The leather was cold and hard to the touch. I ran my hands up his face tracing my fingers round from his forehead to his chin, he leaned into my touch.

I was so caught up in my exploration that I had not even realized that he had ceased playing and had his eyes closed.

I stopped, suddenly realizing what I was doing and let my hands drop to my side.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked at me, I starred right back.

"You are real." I whispered

OK so I decided not to have her take his mask of and not to have him have a wax work of her (even I thought that was a bit freaky) but I did have it look like that was what it was. Now from the DVD I couldn't quite make out what the bed was (it could be an angel (??)) but I liked the idea of a swan.

Hope you enjoyed. Erik's POV next.

Please, please review.