Phantom of the Opera 1. Shelter

It would not be a lie to say that the night – that same dark blanket with thousands of holes which was covering the city and allowing people have a peak of heaven's light was what coursed in the masked prodigy's veins instead of blood. No, there was no crimson liquid inside of him, nothing that would race, boil or run cold. He was bloodless, _heartless._.. Well, he wished he would be at the very least. Everything he knew about himself was denied by tender eyes and strong soprano.

_Le Mort Vivant_. His steps felt heavy despite no thudding sound coming out each and every time the heel of his shoe clashed with pavement. Where was he going? _Away._ Away from the pain and chaos he caused, away from looks of loathing and despise. There was only one warm place for him left besides the liar of his, beneath Opera Populairé. _Le Mort Vivant._ His theater was indeed the place where the nickname used on him by gypsies had returned to life. He was an off spring of oldest horseman, a seed of demise, killing innocent in order to survive, to get what he wanted.

Exhaling a breath of relief, cloaked man collided his bent fingers with a wooden surface of a door leading into the mansion which belonged to a woman he knew since he was a young man. Even before she opened the door a clear image of her stood in his mind – sharply raised eyebrows and criticizing glint within bright yet tired hues. Was it a mistake? Him coming here? Many found madame Giry's inexhaustible knowledge of Opera Ghost odd and now that the masked man was gone from the catacombs of Opera House, she will be the first one – and only one – in the list of Phantom's accomplices.

No words of judgment or concern brushed out of the slightly older woman's lips when the door was finally pulled open. He suspected so much. What stunned him to pieces was her arms around his frame, pulling him closer, grasping for a proof of reality within the warmth of his body. How long did it take her to realize what she was doing and draw back? One, two seconds? Even less of time was needed for a scowl to mar her aging features.

"Where are they? Did you hurt them? I swear to all that's sacred if you returned to your -…" The older Giry was not able to finish her sentence for a quivering hand rose up to stop her from doing so, defeated eyes gazing at her from under a cloak which not so long ago drank in warmth of one of his preys.

"I let them go, Antoinette. I did. But I need your help still." A little crackle within his voice made the recently shed tears nearly evident, but they were long dry, leaving behind only a sore throat and red rimmed eyes as a result. And how could he not cry, how could he not scream in devastation when his love and muse left with a man whose embrace was all _she_ craved? Raoul - a man whose presence was welcoming by his young pupil; the same man who brought love into her life instead of fear and hideousness. No matter his dark deeds, Erik's face alone made him unworthy of Christine's love.

In attempt to pull himself out of the reverie he was stuck in since he first saw his muse, the masked man observed madame Giry as she looked around the street only then grasping a fistful of his cloak and pulling him inside her house. But he wordlessly insisted on keeping a hood over his face. Both his wig and mask were still in his liar and even if Antoinette did not care for infection on his features, there was something else he needed to hide. A range of emotions burning at his face and eyes; sadness, pain, fear, complete and utter feeling of being lost and shattered. He no longer had a purpose to live, to create. Empty like a shell with its once rich contents now rotten out.

"I need to stay with you. Not for long, of course, you have my vow on that." He started, insecurity and hesitance clear within the baritone of his voice. "The entire France is searching for me, there's no way I can escape now."

"Not another word, my child. They are useless, you already know my answer." Any other person would've nodded and looked away, but not Erik. He saw that glint of softness and a slight tug of tender smile scattered over older Giry's features and his own head came to bob in a nod, mouth curving upwards with relief. Antoinette Giry knew he'd understand. They were like siblings – the two of them. Despite everything, despite blood on Erik's hands she knew that he did it all because he was cornered. It was a defense overall.

True, she did want for all of the madness to be over in Opera House. She wanted that place to be finally free of all the lies and pain and bloodshed. But she never wanted for her Erik to hurt. God knew the man suffered enough in his life to be forgiven _at least_ by her. No one would ever grant him softness even if he would not be capable of hurting a fly. His face, his distortion… no one needed more, in their eyes he was a monster from that point on.

"Prepare yourself a bath, you know where everything is. I will make a bed for you in a guest room over that time." Expecting him to get rid of the clothing which has hiding his entire frame had no point whatsoever. And so, instead of saying anything else, Antoinette Giry turned on her heel, marching up the stairs and leaving Erik to do as she ordered. The man paid visits to her often enough to know his way around her house. And to be honest, sometimes his presence alone managed to put madame Giry at ease, get rid of every drop of tension and worry within her body. The young man she once saw locked in a cage was now safe, under her wing.

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**A/N:** Hi! I hope you enjoyed reading this. So this is not only my first attempt to write fanfiction (despite the fact that I roleplay for over a year now) it is also my first in Phandom. I hope I did justice to these two characters in this chapter and I do hope that I won't fail at writing others.

What do you need to know is that I like to write thoroughly, therefore despite my unyielding need to see our beloved couple together, it will take at least three/four chapters before they meet. However, I will try not to leave you as empty handed with this begging.

This story and title are inspired by a song Mystery of You by Red. Give it a listen or at least read through its lyrics.

Either way, I hope you enjoy this and I'll try to update as fast as possible.

-Diamond.


	2. News

A week passed since the last time she allowed her voice to form notes and burst into melodies. Melodies which were capable to make a listener smile, cry, fume because of events on stage. Only after a week she managed to re-teach herself how to smile. Politely that is. It was impossible to cheer her up and she only forced herself to tug her lips upwards because Raoul's family was starting to question his fiancée's well being and even sanity. She wasn't sad, wasn't afraid or broken. Christine was simply lost in her thoughts, surrounded by endless questions, one of them being why her heart was beating so silently.

Many would say that her life was going as fluently as possible and that soon she will get her awaited happy ending. The de Chagny family was quick to accept her into their circle; proper manners which seemed to have faded in her memory were easier than they appeared to her when she was younger. Now as she was looking at her reflection in the mirror – luxurious gown complimenting the lines of her body and the tone of her skin, head held high and eyes shining with confidence – she looked nothing like that girl weeping in a church which was latter found by… by him. Her Angel of Music; her own personal hell.

No, that was not confidence in her eyes, it was an illusion of it; alike his soft caresses and affectionate words. All of it was surreal, made up in her head with his help. It was not his deformed face or wicked soul that pushed Christine away from him. His tricks on her, the hypnosis he put her under… How could've he just acted like that with her? Who gave him consent to control her, her actions and thoughts?!

How can she know that what she felt whenever she was around him or thought of him was real and not created by him solemnly?

"Christine, my love, can I come in?" Thoughtful mist over her eyes was gone the moment Raoul's voice rang out behind the door, making her very much aware of the way her fingers were tracing the line of her neck, the one which still burned from the Phantom's touch. Cursing at herself inwardly, the young prima donna withdrew her hand away from her own skin as though she just touched a greatest sin, spinning on her heel and strutting to the door so she could let her fiancé in.

"Only if my chaperone's with you." Another smile full of lies twisted at her lips, sending off the vibe that Christine was overly excited upon seeing her beloved man. But her eyes were still empty, tainted with exhaustion and lack of will. Would it be so bad for her to just go along with the flow of natural events? Stop wondering about her angel completely and give in to the life which was presented to her on a silver platter? "I might get into trouble if she were to spot me talking with you alone."

"Don't fret, she's asleep. And this is important."

"Is… is something wrong, Raoul?" The worried undertone of her words and nervous fingers toying with an expensive engagement ring on her hand made a smirk paint at Vicomte's lips, his hands grasping her shoulders in gruff yet comforting, oddly so, manner.

"No," straight after the single word of denial Raoul took in a calming breath, his eyes not once flickering away from the marvelous face of his fiancée. Sometimes he could not help but wonder how his Little Lotte turned out to be as if an adornment of entire Paris and how he was the one to get her. Destiny was really smiling to him, wasn't it? "I'll have to leave to Britain soon. But not to worry, I'll be back before our wedding. Wouldn't want to miss it."

Christine was not capable of comprehending how he was able to joke around like that, even chuckle along his words. He-… He was going to leave her alone? No, no, no, he must be crazy. They were already getting as little time for themselves as possible; she couldn't stand the thought of not having him around even if for five minutes a day. Not with her overly strict chaperone and his brother - Count de Chagny - constantly stealing leering glances at her.

"B-but what will I do? I can't possibly prepare wedding all by myself, Raoul." With weak attempts to make him stay, Christine didn't even realize that she was clinging to him for her dear life, much like back then on the roof of Opera Populairé. "I don't know whom to invite or how to order around your servants."

Sneaking his fingers underneath the gentle line of her jaw, slightly older man lifted her chin, the fingers of his free hand tracing the outline of one of her cheeks. "It is my duty as a Vicomte and I'm afraid it's not in my power to stay here. And you can always ask Gertrude when it comes to wedding." He knew she was capable of handling everything on her own and once she'll start she will want to have everything her own way, he did not doubt that. A smile threatened once again to break his calming countenance at the thought of his beloved Lotte ordering her own chaperon to keep her opinions to herself.

Did it have a point to argue further? As far as she knew her fiancé, he was a stubborn man. He barely listened to her when the chaos with Opera House was weighting her down and pushing her towards the brick of insanity; he was not going to listen to her now. That was his flaw and hopefully, she will be capable of overseeing it. That's what love supposed to be about, right? Disregarding imperfections, living with another person no matter the damage in their souls and bodies…

Will he oversee everything wrong within her?

Will he oversee the slowly dying heart and spongy soul?

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**A/N:** This update is out quicker than others will be. I'm a senior at high school and exams are nearing so I'm focusing on them mostly. But the chapters will get longer, so there's that. :)

Hope you enjoy and thank you for those who reviewed and read through this already. You have no idea how much it means to me.

- Diamond. X


	3. Strict antics

**I**f not for Meg Giry the mask of fine porcelain would've never returned to its owner. And not only that- if not for Meg, half of Phantom's ploys would've never been successful.

_He's here, the Phantom of the Opera!_

How perfect of an actress did he teach her to be? No one, not even Christine would've suspected that the young ballet dancer wasn't afraid of the masked man even the slightest; on the contrary, she was his friend as well as his pupil. Her voice was not as strong as Christine's, being mezzo-soprano she wasn't capable of belting out notes as high most of arias required therefore he was not able to bring her to the spotlight of Opera Populairé, but then again he didn't need to. She wanted something much more… _powerful_. And the Phantom had made a promise to help her reach it.

And so it was no surprise for the daughter of ballet mistress to find some of Phantom's clothing in between the laundry she was responsible of. She handed the mask, as well as wig of raven black hair to her mother before she knew that the infamous musical genius was hiding in their house. Only a smile reached her lips when her fingers ran over a frack sown out of finest velvet found in France.

What was not appealing about him? The silken baritone of his voice managed to send shivers down everyone's spine, a well built figure and toned muscles achieved during his time in Persia. His manners were perfected and without a single flaw, he was a gentleman through and through. The side of his face which was not covered was also rather handsome – strong line of his jaw, always masterly shaven. And then there were his eyes. Dark, unyielding eyes, ablaze with confidence and uncanny amusement to the ones who were of threat to him whilst glances full of pain, compassion and genuine tenderness were reserved for people he put his trust in.

He would be a man most desired by women, architect fought for between companies and every Opera House would do anything to have him as a composer and even artist…

…If not for the infection ruining his features.

Now instead of being worshiped he was stigmatized, people who would've cherished him now fear and despise him. It was not his anger and darkness that were haunting Opera Populairé, no. Hatred he received from every single person he met on his way –mother's loathing as well – reflected in his dark deeds and diabolical escapades he pulled off in order to get what he wanted.

Finishing with folding clothing, Meg rolled her lips into the inside of her mouth for a moment or two wondering whether she should bring Erik's belongings to him. She shouldn't intrude him; the events which still seemed fresh even thought half a month already passed were most likely still poisoning him. How many chances there were that Erik would not growl at her to leave his room? Slim to none.

Then again, ma will be furious if she will find that not all of the laundries were back in their rightful places…

* * *

**Q**uill held by a quivering hand of composer threatened to let go of single drop of ink onto the empty sheet of paper. Fuming eyes shot deadly glares towards both of the objects, ordering his own mind to start a process of creation and to finally begin writing something, _anything_, even if it would be no better than incomprehensible babble of an infant. He refused to believe that his reign over music, his glory was over. Numerous attempts of suicide failed every time and the conclusion of it all managed to create a barely-there fire of hope within the pit of his stomach. Hope that he was still needed in this world, that someone wanted him to live still.

He was not naïve enough to believe that it was _her_.

But nothing dared to spin in his mind other than endless variations of the way her name could be sung out. Sometimes he wished that the music box – the same one he had made with his own hands after hearing Christine sing for the first time– would be now sitting next to him, playing the melody of his demise, reminding him that there was no use of trying and that instead of attempting to compose he should find a rope strong enough to make a lasso for himself.

He broke the greatest promise he made in his life. Promise to never hurt her.

Angel of music or angel of darkness, it didn't matter. Both of them could be connected to one persona - Lucifer. Come to think of it, his life was quite similar to the one of devil. Locked in a cage, derided, detested yet at the same time feared by his own kin, only to bring down apocalypse once free. Granted, his terror wasn't as great as the one to be created by Lucifer once he's out, still the similarity was uncanny.

A deep frown twisted at his face once a trio of soft knocks echoed in his room. Wasn't Antoinette out? And either way the only time she came was to bring him breakfast and dinner; now was midday. Before he voiced out his acceptance to come in, the fearsome prodigy went to open up a window, grabbing a letter-opener on his way, the only thing which could cause some injury. Now was not the time for him to be trusting and scattered minded, not with gendarmerie running around Paris as though their feet were on fire.

"You may enter" ordering loud enough for someone behind the door to hear, Erik came to stand by the desk, the knuckles of his right hand turning white behind his back from the grasp he had on the letter-opener. His mind was running freely enough and at incredible speeds that one of the most obvious answers managed to shock and baffle him at the same time quite strongly. "Meg?"

Raspy voice of the Phantom seemingly jollified the short brunette, yet in return she received a glower from Erik. He hadn't used his voice since the night he stepped through the doorstep of madame Giry's house, it was no wonder his words sounded somewhat croaked out. He himself was out of shape – thick stubble adored his cheeks even though some of it took cover under his mask, dark circles underneath his eyes – his _red rimmed, puffy _eyes, disheveled clothing and overall appearance. It made any sort of hints of smile fall from Meg's face.

"Oh Erik," sighing out compassionately, the ballet dancer took a few steps closer, yet not daring to eliminate the distance between them merely so she could hug him or at the least caress his cheek soothingly. There was always a barrier between them which both were comfortable with not crossing. "I see you've tried to compose again. Did you have any luck?" Distracting herself from the need to comfort him, Meg turned her eyes to the yellowish sheets scattered on the desk he was still standing next to. And merely by the poorly tamed wince on his features did she understand that his attempts were useless.

"I-… I can't… I don't know how, anymore." If not for their previous teacher/student relationship those words would've never met the daylight in Meg's presence. But he knew the girl since she was half her height and along the way they found that at least music-related secrets between them were useless.

There was a time when Meg was his muse… With her help Erik wrote the most convivial piece in his repertoire. Instead of being afraid of him like everyone else, she found his masked face endearing and mysterious; she was the first person in his lifetime to show him the joys of childhood, the colors of the world.

And now his heart was heavy with love and pain. Even if Meg would be capable of returning at least a glimpse of happiness he once experienced… he simply wasn't sure he wanted that back in his world.

"Well of course you can't! Your room doesn't have a piano and no one is capable of writing anything with their mind as the only thing that produces some sort of notes." Instead of faltering once more, her beatific attitude only shone brighter as she skipped to place his freshly cleaned out jacket onto the wardrobe by the far wall, scowling at the unmade bed. "No one would be able to create in such messy surroundings as well."

It was hard for him to believe but there actually was a shade of amusement hovering above him at the motherly antics of the young dancer. First and foremost Erik was rather grateful that she didn't choose to question him or show him any pity – he didn't need that, it would only make the matters worse.

"Come on. You need to clean yourself up and have something to eat. Then I will show you were we hold our piano." At first the Phantom was ready to protest, but then he remembered that he actually never really saw any musical instrument around their house and if not for curiosity blooming up inside of him, he would've never nodded his head in a gentle way.

"I will go to the sewer tomorrow to bring you new clothing, for now, you'll have to do with the ones of my father, may he rest in peace." Now at this part Erik shook his head, protesting against her idea quicker than she even managed to finish with her train of thoughts.

"No. No, don't go. It would be more than suspicious for you to buy men's clothing when only females live in your household." He said, shifting from one foot to another as he watched Meg fixing the bed he was occupying for past weeks.

"Fine. But dress up. I'm not going to allow you to flaunt around in those dirty clothes you have around the house!"

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**A/N:** This should've been longer, but I have a couple of excuses why it isn't:

a) I wanted to post an update before I go out for the weekend to celebrate my birthday

b) I had an incredible idea for Christine's part, but it was before I went to sleep. I typed it out on my phone so I wouldn't forget it and when I read it the other day I stupidly wrote down only "Could she betray her Angel like that?" *facepalm* Now I'm trying to remember what I wanted to write.

Also a bit more explaining on Meg's part and her outlook on Erik's appearance. In the original book, I believe, it is said that Phantom had promised her to make her an empress, meaning that she was already aware of whom he was. In another book she is said to marry him and have children with him. What made me write her this way however, was the slight over-acting of Daisy Maywood in her role as Meg and it inspired me to believe that she was also acting out her fear and that it wasn't real. I hope that's clear enough.

**To Dkk5**: Christine we see in ALW's Phantom is always presented with some sort of fear or pressure, so I really want to explore her characteristics outside those two things, hence her grown maturity. But she still has a long way to go. Thank you for your regards!:)

Either way, reviews, favorites and follows is what keeps me going!

I should post another update within a week.

- Diamond. X


	4. Torn Apart

**D**ark high-heeled shoes with fine prints of colorful flowers peeked from under a hem of a mint colored dress in a quick and un-ladylike stride, soaking wet and dirty from the muddied puddles underneath them. Christine Daaé was running late for her appointment with a sewer. Funny thing was - she had to meet her at Raoul's mansion. Because of the pouring rain Christine was soaking wet, angry and anxious at the same time. Angry, because Gertrude, her chaperone without which she was not able to take a step outside her fiancé's mansion, was not even bothering to quicken her gait because of this rainfall and their obvious lag; anxious because the young opera singer already had the pleasure to taste her sewer's strictness. Not much time was left until her wedding with Raoul and she started to fear that once madame Chevalier will get fed up with her, Christine will have to search for someone else to sow her dress. Frankly, she could not afford that.

Any other day, she would've taken the carriage and had no problem with returning back to one of the mansions Raoul owned. But this time the only horses she was provided with were preoccupied with dragging a carriage full of candlesticks, tablecloths, fabrics, silverware, china and other necessities which the wedlock's reception will require. Her fiancé had too great of expectations in her, now she had no doubt. The full menu was still not prepared, she had no idea how to set everything out and whether he will like it or not. She could not even think about the fact that there was no orchestra still ordered.

Twenty minutes into her flee across the rain-coated city and Christine finally stepped through the door which led into her room, a pair of maids helping her out of the mint gown, at the same time drying her off. One sharply raised eyebrow of an elderly woman made heat crawl up the young brunette's cheeks from utter and complete embarrassment, her eyes jumping down to the ground even if Raoul's endless teachings banned her from doing so. She was going to become a vicomtess rather soon – it was time for her to learn that others bow to her and not the other way around.

She wasn't even sure whether she could beg forgiveness and understanding from the craftswoman. Maybe she did realize that Christine was left alone to take care of such an enormous wedding. Over five hundred guests were going to be invited, and she probably knew only a handful of them. Yes, she could ask help from Raoul's relatives, but that would show them that she was a weak, petty little thing, not capable of making mature decisions and choices. She didn't need their help, didn't need their pity. No, Christine wasn't mad, or crazy, or broken… The accident with Angel of Music… It's in the past, she was naïve then; she was a _child_.

And yet somehow she wished to hear her angel singing songs inside her head during night time at least one last time. She hadn't been as calm since the last time he did and sometimes, just sometimes, she gets close enough to convincing herself fully that she's going mad without _him_; that a part of her was missing – a rather large part without which she couldn't normally function.

She was finally allowed to see her reflection in the mirror. She was measured in nigh every way possible over the previous meetings with her sewer and now was the first time she actually got to put on the luxurious gown on her petite frame…

… _It did not leave her as excited as she dreamed it would._

Something was simply missing in the dress which hung on her posture. There were no ruffles on the skirt, it did not have sleeves with circular flounce, not to mention the cleavage – it was non-existent, turtleneck chosen instead. Embroidery on the front of her dress felt simply too stogy, the white patterns of thread did not stand out at all. Even though she managed to force out a satisfied smile, the corners of her lips were still bitten with disappointment.

Maybe she could just tug out that white dress from deep within her wardrobe and show the sewer how its done and what she would like to wear? That dress was perfect for her. Soft lines of silk at the end of triangular corset made the curve of her hips stand out, emphasizing the more and more emerging womanly lines; soft patterns sown out using thread of tea-mixed-with-milk color complimented her ivory skin. The only problem was – she had promised to herself that the dress Phantom forced her to put on will only be used to make a rag out of.

She did not dear to touch it unkindly even if for a brief moment.

"Is this the final look?" Mustering every fiber of courage in her shivering body, Christine looked at madame Chevalier over the mirror, her lips pressed into a thin white line. Should she be bold enough to offer some changes? The satin dress was pretty once she stopped comparing it to the one in her wardrobe, yet she still wanted at least some minimum touch up. And so, she parted her lips to speak up, letting Raoul's words in her mind breathe in at least a brief spark of courage. "I want it to have a neckline of sharp triangular shape. Sort of like a letter V, only a bit more narrow. Wider skirt would also fit me better."

This was how she should act. Strong and not letting anyone push her around. Christine was going to become a wife of influential and wealthy man; what sort of a wife would she be if she would fear to stand up for herself? Then again a wife had a duty to listen to every order of her husband. She was to serve him. To look after his domestic affairs so he could focus on matters more important than that. To provide him companionship. And if he wished - to lay for him and bear his children. Romance; it all vanished once duty appeared and somehow she believed that Raoul won't be a husband who will want a completely equal marriage.

Even now she could see hints of his side which liked to dominate. He was always the one to initiate their kisses and if she attempted to do so… he simply put his hands on her shoulders and told her that it was not a right time. He only called her over imaginative when she confessed about the way his brother flirted with her or made her feel as though he dressed her off with his eyes. Heavens, once he was rather close to slapping her, but… she would've deserved that. She started wondering aloud about Phantom's real name in front of his relatives.

"But, darling, that cleavage won't suit the necklace your dress was ordered to be matched with." The question would sound worry-filled if not the nonchalance in the entire posture and words of her sewer, making it obvious that she didn't want to lift a finger to fix the dress the way Christine would preffer.

"I don't care. I want it to have a neckline." She could not give in, bow her head down and let others walk over her like that. It was the only reason why she picked up her voice again, this time in a sterner demand to get what she wanted. That sternness in her own voice threw her off and left her eyes wide with bafflement.

She sounded just like_ him_. There was a pinch of growl within her half-octave lowered timbre, the words gritted out through her teeth. A thunder of voice – that's what her demand mirrored. The only thing was – a feminine twist on that thunder still didn't make her sounds as threatening and serious. Only now did she realize that her Angel could've taught her so much, yet she only focused on music and how to get herself on the spotlight.

She indeed was rather selfish when it came to her lessons with the Opera Ghost. The simplest and most obvious example to that was her lack of knowledge when it came to his name, age, basically _everything about him_. And when she saw him… How oblivious she was to a simple matter that he did not wear a mask so it would give him a vibe of mysteriousness about himself. And still, her curiosity was great enough for more than half of his courage to be shattered once she ripped off his mask.

She stripped him off his honor repeatedly, betrayed him and most likely killed him.

And she was the one to show disgust and fear towards him, not the other way around. How pathetical and egoistical.

Those thoughts haunted her entire day and even as she slipped into her nightgown, running a porcelain brush over her hair she could not stop wondering whether the unnamed prodigy was still alive. But she should instead worry about her wedding. For example, from where should she get an entire orchestra?

Neither monsignor André nor monsignor Firmin were fond of her enough to lend her the orchestra of Opera House and she was too focused on herself back then to befriend the conductor. The only man who could get that orchestra play at their wedding was Raoul. But he was in Britain and Christine still stood firmly with her stubborn promise to herself not to ask de Changy's help.

What if she would ask madame Giry, though? She was a woman strong and commanding enough for men in that Opera Populairé to show her enough of respect. And maybe, just maybe her former ballet teacher could also help with wedding preparations. Not to mention Meg, her best friend. Oh, she hadn't seen Meg is so long…

One of those rare, honest smiles passed opera singer's lips as she was climbing into her bed. It was decided. Tomorrow she will visit Giry's household in a call for help. Who knows, maybe a warm chat with two women who mattered most in Christine's life would actually be somewhat refreshing.

* * *

**N**eedless to say, her entire demeanor seemed more joyous the other day. She seemed over excited to her chaperone, the servants questioned the softer and more emotion-filled tone of voice and her choice of a dress which looked much warmer in sense of color and patterns compared to others Christine usually wore.

It felt as though the idea confronting her past friends had brought a flicker of light back to her countenance. She could not wait to finally see Meg and madame Giry, hear their voices, see them smile and accept her back into their family. After all, she lived with them for a couple of years until the wage she got for being a ballet dancer in the Opera Populaire gave her enough of money to find herself a small apartment. During that time she finally started her lessons with Angel of-… with the Phantom.

Truly, an entire month without seeing or contacting them felt quite tormenting. They were her family or sorts and she missed them. Yes, Christine did love Raoul and she had a huge need to be next to him as often as possible, but a person needed more than one companion throughout their life. And God knew both Meg and Antoinette were something she was thankful for to this day and will be until the day of her decease.

Her fingers were quick to hit against the door of Giry's house in a soft knock, an exited smile not leaving her features. Christine did not care for her chaperone at that moment – the woman was still climbing out of the carriage and young prima donna did not have enough of time to stand next to her and wait like a patient little girl. To be honest, she didn't want Gertrude to come at all, yet the old woman was more stubborn that Christine.

"Meg!" The Brunette exclaimed happily at the sheer second heavy doors were opened, throwing herself into the blonde girl's embrace. "It's so good to see you," her words were muttered out into Meg's shoulder and Christine merely tightened her hold on the younger girl, breathing in the ever so familiar scent of the house.

She did not care for Meg's absolute surprise, did not care for the stiffness of her posture. What she did care of, however, was madame Giry's rushing stride to get out of the hall, a man following in her tow.

A man which left Christine with numb posture and shock stricken eyes.  
_Phantom._

* * *

**A/N:** I'm slowly starting to get the idea of where this is going. You are in for a long, _long_ journey with me, darlings.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or anything that has to do with it. I'm merely borrowing characters for purpose of pure fun! :)


	5. You're Here

**B**efore he managed to do anything a young woman crossed the space in between their forms over a blink of a moment, her small palms not all too gently cradling his cheeks as she forced his mouth down on hers, kissing him as though there won't be another day for her to relish in the proximity of his presence.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she uttered in a shivering whisper, what's left of her hoarse voice filled with tears of joy. He was with her again, he returned to her. To hell with all of the pain he caused, let her sorrow be damned to never return. _He was here._ And he finally returned the wings of her heart. "How long will you be staying?" Losing only a beat, dark haired woman gazed at the clear eyes of her lower, smile filled with hope as ever craving to be pressed against his lips for yet another kiss.

But did he allow that? The answer was plain and simple _no_. Yes, he came here with sole intentions of seeing her and continuing with their lessons, so to speak, but he didn't want to start them of this side of their affair.

Vicomte de Chagny feared for the softness of affection glinting in his lover's eyes. He had promised himself to Christine after all, his ring officially adored her finger for quite a while already. But he also had duties for her. Not to hurt her, not to create pain for her during the night when nothing will stand in their way. Knowledge he gained from reading books was not enough, for theory and practice where two different things.

Hence Sophia. A maid from old mansion in London that belonged to his father. She allowed Raoul to use her body as he applied his knowledge of love-making theory into practice. Sophia made him lose his shyness and awkwardness, because of the young maid he learned how to be gentle and passionate, how to ignite a flicker of lust within a body of female. And now he came for yet another lesson. Longing and how to create it within a woman. So far he could see that he didn't need to be taught of anything – the dark haired maid's desire radiated in waves off her body. Shame that the lesson won't start in an instant.

He didn't leave Paris and Christine in it simply because he could surround himself with an embrace of a woman which had let him enjoy her through and through, no. He really did have his duties in England and they had to be carried on. But once he saw Sophia after all this time… Old memories rushed through him like the fastest of trains, long buried emotions settling on the outline of his soul as if dark smoke of burning coal.

"Meeting of Peers won't wait for me, Sophia. I'm afraid that we'll have to delay this… _rendezvous _of ours." Why was there regret in his voice? He loved Christine; no, more than that - he adored her, _worshiped her._ Yes, he was completely devoted to her – the only reason why he was giving himself back into the arms of his old fling was because he wanted everything that's best for _her_. A man must have his training and he must have his patience. It was in Christine's power to call off their engagement if he would be too bold with her, too improper. Sophia would most definitely suit for letting his petulance lessen and his tidings in the matters of bed grow.

"How long will it take?" Slightly dramatic pout shaped at the lips of a young maid, her fingers toying with a button of Raoul's shirt, yet never daring to loosen it up enough for the saga to unclasp.

"It mostly depends on how stubborn Peers will be this time."

"I can't last that long, Vicomte, I waited enough already."

"You must."

Clasping Sophia's hands in between of his to stop the oh-so tormenting teasing that she was doing, Raoul pressed his lips against her bent fingers, his bright eyes gazing into hers with tender passion.

He was a mere boy, not older than sixteen years old when his father finally forced him to acquaintance himself with an even younger maid's body. They were both burning red with shyness and embarrassment; their touches were tentative and scared and to this day he felt guilty for the pain he inflicted back then on her frail body. As they grew they taught each other new techniques in kissing, caressing and the overall process of intercourse.

And now they met once a year at the best. Once he'd be married with Christine, he will have to take her to London with him as well. Then his meetings with Sophia would most likely never happen.

Although, it was expected out of him to eventually get himself a mistress. Wife was to serve to him as a bearer of his off springs, a companion and helper around the household. If he was seeking for comfort or love… those were responsibilities for concubine to take care of.

He knew he'd eventually confront Sophia. He even bought pennyroyal leaves in a pharmacy in Rouen on his way to England. The herb served as a protection against Raoul and Sophia having a bastard every single time after their lay.

Watching as the maid tugged out something from the pocket of her dress and placed it in his palms, pressing them together, he felt himself shiver with pleasurable numbness as she left a teasing kiss on his lips.

"That's something to remember me by during your meeting."

Words full of mischievousness, smile glistening with dalliance and a cravat pin he thought he lost now resting his hands left Raoul with anticipation souring through his veins and making his stance appear somewhat uncomfortable. Especially because of his suddenly shrunken trousers.

* * *

**R**ecoil and run or follow after and confront? Those were her only choices as she stared at the now empty space. A couple of seconds ago there were tails of jacket flipping out of the room. A jacket which she knew only too well – she touched the fabric, sunk her nails into it and had a whiff of scent it carried out. Same scent which managed to hypnotize and intoxicate her no lesser than the owner of luxurious piece of clothing.

_Before_. That was before. Now she felt nausea creeping up her throat at the memory, now she was disgusted by mere thought of that man.

Now she wished those same lies she told to herself were true and that she would firmly believe she did not crave for his closeness at all.

But fear, the memories of his dark deeds quickly created a slowly increasing hysteria in her mind, forcing her nails deep into the skin of her friend and making her cry out of pain.

"Christine, that hurts!" Only the loud exclamation of Meg managed to snap the young diva out of her frozen state, horrified eyes meeting the ones of utter and complete confusion.

But before she could babble out even a single word her chaperone came to halt right by her side, studying the scene with tired, curious eyes.

"M-meg… Where… Where is y-your mother? I-… I need t-to speak with h-her." Lamentable stutter of her voice which sounded more like a croak resounded in completely silent room and she finally dropped her quivering hands to her sides, hiding the obvious fear showing in her limbs between the folds of a light colored dress. There was no way Christine could speak of her Angel in the presence of that old hag. She could not simply betray him like that; she could not allow Gertrude to point gendarmerie straight to this house.

Maybe-… maybe it wasn't him? Despite her nigh forceful attempts to get the Angel of Music out of her mind Christine could not fight against her need to see him again, even if for the briefest of moments… Maybe it was just a simple hallucination. After all, there were no men in the household of Giry's. Or were there? The discomfort in her friend's eyes really made the brunette doubt her long known assumption.

"Of course, she just, uh… she went to check up on… soup she's making." Stepping aside in order to let the two women in, Meg fought hard against not flinching at her poor excuse as to why her mother was not there. She did believe that the moment she prolonged was enough for Erik to be hidden away from Christine's eyes.

"Make yourselves comfortable in the parlor and I'll bring her here right away." Straightening up her back, Meg gracefully turned on her heel, quickened stride taking her in no time to the second floor where her mother and Erik must be, much to Christine's confusion. Weren't their kitchen in the first floor?

"Mama! Our guests want to see you!" Why bother hiding the identity of their 'guests' from him? He wasn't a fool, he wasn't oblivious… he was too deeply in love not to notice Christine, not to feel her presence even twenty feet away or not to feel the warmth on his ruined skin even if an entire floor was parting them. That's why a scoff left his lips the moment he heard Meg, his eyes shading with darkness of ire.

Little did he know, Meg had a plan slowly forming in her mind. As soon as Antoinette left, the ballet dancer grasped his hand, forcing him to sit down on his bed merely so he would stop pacing the floor. "I can prove to you," she started her head bobbing up and down in a nod while her eyes kept an unyielding contact with his dark gaze. "I can prove that she loves you no matter what. Her mind is poisoned with what you've done, but that is not who you are. And I can prove to you that given different circumstances, she would've stayed."

There was nothing Erik could do but stare at her, curiosity reaching the pinnacle inside of him. Why would she think he wants that to be proven? How does she know him so well? And more importantly what was that plan of hers?

"Speak of what you have in mind already instead of walking circles around it."

* * *

**"H**e fell asleep in my bed, mama! What do I do?" Worry mixed with fear glinted in an exclamation, arriving together with the easy step of blonde dancer. She knew that older Giry's eyes were burning with horror and confusion now, but… there was a show she had to carry on and she won't stop at any costs.

"What are you talking about, child?"

"My suitor! He fell asleep on by bed. I was out of my room no longer than a couple of minutes, I swear and when I returned he was there!"

Did-… Did Christine hear it right? Meg had _a suitor_? When did that happen; why wasn't she informed? Was that the man she saw? Why were they hiding him then? Brunette diva did not care for the confusion of madame Giry or absolute indifference of her chaperone. She cared about the bright purple mark on Meg's skin and the incomprehensible jealousy bubbling within her insides.

"I didn't know you had a suitor, Meg. Congratulations!" Forcing any negative emotion down her throat along with a dry lump formed within it, Christine squeezed out a smile, brushing her palms over the ruffles of her dress. "Who is he? And-… why don't you have a chaperone around?"

"Oh, Christine, I'm not as important as you are to have a chaperone. And either way, my mother is here, there's nothing to fret." The hurtful truth behind Meg's words was long learned to be concealed by her. She never was as good – she didn't have a voice strong enough, Erik wasn't as inspired by her. Not as pretty, not as talented not as cared for. That little glint of hurt which lasted only a blink in Christine's eyes was oddly satisfying Meg. She was never an altruist and it didn't matter that Christine was her best friend! At least once she wanted to feel more important. Even if that all was and will be nothing but make believe. And now, her new suitor - Erik – he cared more for her while he didn't know Christine even existed.

All of that will shatter once the beloved opera singer finds out Phantom's name. But until then – love bite made by his lips and teeth adored Meg's skin and she felt as proud as ever.

"Do I know of him? What's his name?"

Blonde's chin rouse up with pride, pink lips painting with a sweetest and proudest of smiles as she opened them to speak.

There was one problem, though – the reason behind prolonged silence. Phantom did not have a surname.

"Monsieur Erik… de Radeth."

* * *

**A/N:** Like? Hate? Let me know :3

**DISCLAIMER:** I OWN NOTHING THAT HAS TO DO WITH THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA.


	6. Giving Up

**H**eadache was his only accomplice as he stuffed what little of belongings he had into a dark bag. Every possibility of him staying in Antoinette's household, no matter lack of her refusal against him staying, was non-existent. What he allowed Meg to start was too disgraceful and pitiful. And he came to find that out from no other than ballet mistress.

She stormed into his room not allowing even a couple of minutes pass by since Christine's retrieve back to the mansion she lived in. Now were her eyes aflame with anger and irritation, now was she gritting her teeth and nearly hissing with the ire she possessed.

"Explain all of this! Now!" His face twisted in a grimace from the raw force of her voice, his eyes glimmering with pathetic apology, catching the image of a rather embarrassed Meg trailing in after her mother. He didn't need any time figuring out why Antoinette was fuming like a displeased feline. Throughout his time living with her Erik was nothing but calm, too calm and barely moving. Of course there was that time when Meg led him to the piano in the household, allowing him to pour out every pent up emotion inside of him since the moment he returned to France, but the older Giry was not there at the time, she couldn't have noticed.

That leaves one, tiny plan created by the genius that was Meg's brain.

Granted, he was harder to convince going along the plan once he heard the details it required, but when Meg wanted something she always found ways to be persuasive. The young dancer knew his weak spots even without him needing to tell her of them, she knew just exactly what to say to have him on her side.

"Once a person as well-known and perfect accepts you - everyone will start overseeing your own flaws."

To be accepted. Wasn't that all he asked from this world? By God, he would single handedly disown every single talent he had if people would be repulsed by him no more. If he could get involved in daily live, daily routines of town without someone screaming out of fear or even going as far as attempting to kill him because of the monstrosity of his face… he would need nothing more.

"_This_ won't matter anymore." Then Meg's fingers proceeded to sneak underneath his mask, letting it fall as her fingertips traced over the constantly open wounds on his face, the marred skin with nothing but confidence and lack of fear in that action. "Only your heart and brain will. Your talent will shine; your kindness will get a chance to be expressed. They will see you for what you truly are. A wonderful person."

Now even if he didn't know her reason behind that scheme, he saw just how easily he could be lured into anything if womanly charms were used correctly on him.

"It's just a harmless experiment." Using one of Meg's chosen sentences used on him to describe her idea, Erik shrugged his shoulders, clicking back into the cool and steady demeanor after his initial shock of Antoinette's fury. Usually it was pointless for him to act strong or confident in front of the dark haired woman. She knew him liked skinned, saw him at his best and worst. Fear was long gone within her aging frame and it was impossible for him to even think he could move her with his mysteriousness. Therefore he allowed her to see him as he was truly – no tricks or metaphorical masks.

"Harmless experiment," scoffing, Antoinette Giry shook her head, dabbing an accusing finger at Erik. "Do you know what can happen once people find out that Meg has a suitor? Do you know what will happen once that suitor disappears? Everyone in Paris will think that he – _you_ – disappeared after disgracing her! And then no man will ever want to look at her, let alone marry her!"

Madame Giry's chest was heaving with heavy breaths, her eyes still glinting with rage. Meg was all she had left. Her husband, sister, mother, father all of them rested already six feet under. No more of her family was left within Paris, she remained in touch with her cousins, but they were living thousands of miles away and she wasn't as rich to pay a visit to them at least once a year. That purple mark which adored her daughter's neck – and will for at least a few more days… it could ruin everything. And Meg was young, oh so young. She could reach her spotlight, her fame still. But if this little incident will get out to broad daylight, she will forever be dishonored. Antoinette could not allow that to happen.

"And unless you are intending on being her spouse, I suggest you stop with these shenanigans! You promised me that you let Christine go. Why are you trying to reach out for her again?"

He did not try to deny her words, did not try to put the blame on Meg. Erik knew well enough that every single word of the ballet mistress was true. He was trying to chase after something he set free from the chains of his darkness; he foolishly believed that Christine could fall in love with him without even knowing that it was indeed her Angel of Music who was hiding under the tittle of Meg's suitor.

He was not as stupid as to not figure out that he stayed with Girys for too long. Streets were calmer for over a week already, yet he was too reluctant to do anything, to leave as he planned in the begging. He was held back by idiotic beliefs that maybe, _just maybe _Christine would reach out for him, try to find him. She was happy, soon to be married with Vicomte de Changy. Forgetting him was probably the easiest task set upon her shoulders at that very moment.

He had his chance; a chance that was ruined right from the beginning. The infection spread out from his face to his entire life, ripping out of his grasp every single drop of happiness. He left a drop of poison in existence of people who had the honor – no, _the_ _horror_ – to even hear of him. It's time for him to return back to the shadows.

Maybe France will brighten up after he would leave it.

So he'll leave. For good.

Following morning only a strong scent of his presence lingered in the room he occupied, wide open window allowing the sunshine in as a particularly warm breeze toyed with heavy curtains.

* * *

**S**leepless eyes darted around the room, particularly focusing on dark corners and even darker mirror. Now more than ever Christine's thoughts were invaded by the essence of her protector. She could feel his fingertips on her skin; hear his voice inside her mind. Yet when she tried to really listen to it or even hear a fragment of song… it vanished, tormenting her with seemingly greatest amusement it could gain. And she wanted to hear him again so bad it ached.

She frequently thought of his words the last time she saw him. Their love was indeed poisoned by his infection. If her immature curiosity wouldn't have forced her to take off his mask, she would've been his wife by now, most likely, he wouldn't have murdered Buquet or Piangi - as she later came to find out. If she would've never seen his face, The Phantom would've never made her to return from his liar.

_If she would've never seen his face. _

"Angel… don't shun me." Her words were naught but a whisper, disappearing into her knees as she rested her lips against their bony structure. But he can still hear her, right? He's her Angel of Music, her guardian.

He was not a mere man. He was much more even if entire world –her included, regrettably so, thought that he was less that than. All believed him to be ruthless monster.

Why didn't he hear her prayers for him to show up, to grace Christine with his presence and velvet of his tone, sing her to sleep, make her feel protected and back in the warm embrace of her father? Masked man's voice sometimes sounded just like his, just like her dear papa's. She missed it all, no there was no one to hug her or protect her from the coldness of her numbing dreams.

That jealousy she felt at Giry's household... Raoul hadn't touched her more than etiquette acquired ever since the moment they got officially engaged. Mind-spinning kisses, calming sensation of his arms looped around her slim waist, his hushed words whispering everything and nothing into her ear every time they were left alone. Where did all that go? Now the best she could expect of him was a polite smile and every time Christine tried to hug him, Raoul stiffened up, his face seemed to fall and become so much more closed off. Is that how it will continue?

Why was he marrying her if he didn't want her near, if _he didn't love her_? He promised her he did.

Every man she felt any sort of fondness to came to betray her trust, break their sweet promises and bitter up her life.

"Show yourself!" A heart-wrenching screech broke off the silence of the night, hiccuping sobs following right after as Christine hid her face in soft linens of a blanket. The emptiness of her life was driving her mad; her endless thoughts brought her to tears every single time sun hid behind horizon. She needed one person she could trust, a single essence to help her bear the weight on her shoulders, the responsibilities thrust into her hands without a question whether she wanted them or not.

Now more than ever she needed her Angel back. She needed his guard and guidance, craved for his reassuring words and songs which told her that everything will be alright. _He'll protect her; he'll save her from all that's bad with this world. _

He let her go and she allowed him to do so. Now the consequences of that made her heart bleed out with helpless fear.

So many years spent with the man whose face she saw just recently, learning from him everything he knew about singing and life overall, hearing his comforting words as he soothed her every single time she broke down. Angel's assurance that her father was safe in heaven, that he was watching over her with nothing but pride in his light hues of moss was what kept her strong and optimistic about upcoming future "I need your guidance," Christine whispered into white sheets, hot tears never stopping to ride down her flushed, puffy cheeks.

If she only would've known that her Angel was making his way out of Paris, that he blended back in with shadows and darkness in order to find a light in his own life... With every moment his soundless steps took him further away from her, from the muse he once couldn't breathe without, from a miracle he adored more than life itself. If he really wanted to set her free, let her live the life she deserved, not even a trace of his presence should linger in this town anymore.

Living without a heart was not impossible. Brain was the thing that was required in order to survive and nothing else but that damned organ ordered him to flee. His life as a musician was over, notes were no longer spinning in his mind and his voice lost its velvet clearness.

Everyone despised him, kept him as nothing but a monster. He broke many promises and he could no longer face those who forced him to make them. Was it so bad to turn for what he was created? His hands were strong, grip made of iron. Eyes which frequently looked as the ones of a beast never allowed a thing to skip away from him; his feet, body, every sense was trained, his reflexes flawlessly perfected.

Once he thought he got his vengeance on the world, his hatred for the human kind lessened with every head he put to rest. But _their_ loathing towards him only grew, even if they didn't know of any of the horrors he created in his poor existence.

Now all he craved was blood on his hands, pleas on his victims' lips and sheer fear in their eyes. Erik everything that was important to him in the world, be in willingly or not. If he were to stay put and live his life peacefully until its very end, he would, at the same time, allow his mind to bring him to the edge of utter insanity. But he wanted to have control. If he could not get acceptance he will take the second best thing – fright.

If only his Christine would've known about his plans...

They were to be parted forever. Now there was no stopping of it. Two hearts that were meant to be together, two souls who had recognized each in complete and utter darkness would never meet again and maybe it was for the best.

He was a damned one.

She was gentle and beloved by everyone she met.

There was no longer a need for Angel to guard her with his wings of night.

* * *

**A/N: **I have nothing much to say on this one, only that it wasn't expected even for me, I had an entirely different ending for this chapter in my mind. And I can only hope that you will be able to feel the same emotion as I was during the process of writing this.

Reviews are what keeps this story going. I'd really appreciate some feedback. :)

- Diamond. X

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera and anything that has to do with it.


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