Hello all my dear ones! As I begin to work on a new story I am sending up this old one that I wrote a few years back. It is my ideal way the whole Phantom story should have gone. It is more on the sweet side - with a touch of Scary Erik thrown in for fun. It is mostly based on the play with a little bit of Kay here and there. I hope you enjoy it.

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Copyright 2013

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CHAPTER 1

THE FIRST RAY OF HOPE

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The loneliness was becoming unbearable. Erik found little or no pleasure in the things that had entertained him in the past. The music that had once been his only passion had grown cold and lifeless to him. He rarely made the ascent from his dark kingdom to Box 5 of the Paris Opera House to hear the performances that still enthralled large audiences. It was mostly due to the lead singer whom the current managers had had the misfortune to employ for the past year. Carlotta hit so many painful notes that Erik refrained from purchasing large quantities of milk for fear she would curdle it with her voice, thus ruining his investment.

It would not have been so bad if he had only to avoid the Opera stage in order to be free of her atrocious voice. But in many parts of his underground abode, the terrible diva's voice could be heard trickling down through the endless catacombs of hidden passageways and pipes. That is why Erik would seclude himself in his deepest chambers, away from the persistent wails of Carlotta. He feared at times that either the rest of Paris was deaf, or perhaps he had finally succumbed to the maddening effects of years of isolation. For no one but he seemed to notice how awful Carlotta was. Thundering applause would erupt from the audience after each of her performances, much to Erik's disbelief. But what did those fools know? They apparently had no basis for comparison and would applaud the best their limited experience knew. But not Erik. He had heard the greatest singers of the world, played the sweetest music and wrote a score of concertos that would bring tears to your eyes. He knew what good was…and Carlotta was not it.

At first Erik had tried to rid the Opera House of its new prima donna by employing the talents that had earned him the legendary titles of Phantom and Opera Ghost. It gave him a mixture of pleasure, as well as regret, to hear the stage hands and performers whisper his name in fear as their eyes darted around to dark corners, praying that they never encounter the mysterious specter. But Erik was not a ghost or apparition as the majority of people believed. He was a man; an ingenious one who knew the arts of secrecy, sleight of hand, ventriloquism and music…but a man none the less. And because he was only human he was no less susceptible to the pains of loneliness, which had always been present, but had just recently become next to impossible to bare. He longed for companionship, for a friend, for someone to love…and someone to love him in return.

But the reason he remained isolated, keeping everyone away with his ghostly pretense was the same reason he knew he could never expect anyone to love him. His face. The ghastly disfigurement that covered his entire right side from chin to forehead, had left him to receive nothing but fear and loathing from anyone who ever had the misfortune to see him without his mask. The mask that had all but become a part of him. The mask that even his mother had made him wear just so she could stand to be in the same room with him.

Mother, Erik thought with a snort of derision. The woman did not even deserve the coveted title. She should have been the one person to love him unconditionally, yet it was she who had caused him the most pain in the world. She had been so ashamed and repulsed by him that she kept him inside, never letting people even know that she had a child.

She had named him Erik, but he had learned that this hadn't been the original name chosen for him. Had he not been so hideous at birth, he would have been named after his father who had been killed in a construction accident at his company a few months before Erik was born. But his mother had refused to give the name of her beloved husband to a monster such as he. And that was how Erik grew up, knowing that his mother could feel no love, no maternal bond for him. He was alone. So when he was eight years old, he ran away from his unhappy mother and home, stealing away under the protective cover of darkness.

But the world outside his mother's home had turned out to be just as cruel and unfeeling, if not more so. He wandered aimlessly in search of a place for himself, somewhere he could belong. But after his vast travels he came to reside beneath the Paris Opera House, beneath the home of his one true love…music.

What nature had taken from him in appearance, it had more that make up for in heart and talent. Erik had the mind and skill of a genius, the voice of and angel and a heart of gold. But even golden hearts can be broken from years of torture and the hurtful words from uncaring, frightened people. And Erik's heart had almost reached the point of non-repair.

That was the reason he no longer cared if Carlotta sang, and he all but ceased his attempts to frighten her from the Opera House. He of course couldn't help putting on a small show for the people every once in a while just to renew their fear of the Opera Ghost. But even this was growing tiresome. Life, as it was for him, was becoming weary. Each day stretched out before Erik as lonely and endless as the last. Even the opera he had begun writing years ago, his life's work, was barely enough reason for him to rise from his sleep to face his existence. It was at this point, when he had nothing to look forward to but the peace and end of loneliness that death would bring him, that the first ray of hope entered his dark world.

Erik had been in his boat, making the silent journey up the long river that ran beneath the Opera House, when he heard her voice. Her dulcet tones penetrated the walls and lovingly surrounded him like he always wished his mother's arms would have. He stood as still as death in his boat and let the music sweep over him. Closing his eyes he tried to envision the face from which such sweet music could originate. And as she sang his spirit and will to live was rejuvenated. Her voice was untrained, it was true, but he could hear the talent that lay hidden inside, waiting for the right teacher to help it emerge. Waiting for him.

For the first time in what seemed ages he made his way to the Opera House stage, where he concealed himself in his usual hiding place in Box 5. There he gazed upon the source of his new found joy. Her name, he later discovered, was Christine Daae, a young girl auditioning for the opera chorus. She was young, perhaps seventeen or eighteen and yet a full grown woman in form and face. Her beautiful chestnut colored hair fell down her back midway in delicious curls and Erik found his hand reaching out with a desire to touch. Her beautiful blue eyes were like sapphires that shone brightly even from where he stood hidden high above the stage. Erik could not imagine a more beautiful woman to accompany such a heavenly voice…she was perfection itself.

The girl was of course hired, but Erik knew that anyone who entertained the idea that Carlotta was a great singer would also be ignorant enough not to notice the potential in the girl before them. So it was then, as he watched her from his hiding place, that he resolved to teach her himself, to aid her all he could in her assent to excellence.

But how could he do it? How could he teach her without being seen by her or anyone else? If she saw him she would surely faint from fright or run screaming from him; a thought which Erik dreaded more than loneliness. He would just have to wait, listen and seize the opportunity when it presented itself.

Keeping an eye on her was not difficult for Erik, for like a lot of the singers and dancers, she lived in the apartments built into the Opera House. It was to ensure that the performers made it to their rehearsals on time as well as on stage. And since there were countless peep holes, hidden doors and endless shadows in which a Phantom might hide, Christine was rarely out of his sight. She had become his obsession. She occupied his thoughts every waking hour and infiltrated his dreams as he slept. He concentrated on nothing but her and how he could help her. It would be his crowning moment, his one good contribution of beauty to the world that only saw him as ugly. So he watched, listened, dreamed and waited.

He learned many things about her in the weeks that followed her employment. She was as kind and gentle as she was beautiful. From the start everyone loved her, her caring and helpful nature only brought out the good in people. Everyone, that is, except Carlotta. For even though she couldn't avail it to herself, Carlotta sensed the talent hidden in Christine, and resented her for it. All of this did not go unnoticed by Erik's keen and watchful gaze and he made a point to keep an eye on Carlotta for future developments.

Erik would rise each morning with a new sense of wonder and purpose. What new and exciting things would he learn about Christine that day? What piece of her past would she unknowingly reveal to him as she went about under his protective eyes. Each day she surprised him more than the last and each day his feelings for her grew. He longed to feel free to reveal himself to her, but his fear held him back. Erik knew his limitations, set by the hatred from the world, and dared not cross that invisible line. To help Christine, to be her guide and teacher, would bring him more happiness than he had ever known before, and for him it would be enough.

In the meantime he was satisfied with simple things. He could watch her, listen to her sing and vicariously live his life through her.

When she was on stage he would slip through the secret panel hidden behind her mirror and enter her room. It was small and dreary, not at all fitting for a girl of her beauty and talent, Erik thought. But she had done her best to make it nice. She would pick some wild flowers that grew nearby and put them in a simple vase on her dressing table, and she had hung a few pictures and covered her bed with a bright and cheerful spread. Erik would sit in her chair and pretend he was awaiting her return from the stage, imagining that she had sent him a note to wait for her there when the opera was finished. He would envision her running into her room, all smiles, and he would be waiting with a huge bouquet of roses. It was a lovely dream, but then he would open his eyes, and seeing the wilting wildflowers, he would remember it was just the cruel fantasies of a man condemned to solitude. And with a wistful and gentle touch of her pillow, where she dreamed no doubt of a handsome prince at night, he would slip back into the walls of his domain.

As if seeing her during the day wasn't enough, Erik soon found himself on the other side of her wall at night as well. If he was quiet enough he imagined he could hear her light breathing and unable to control the love that was ever growing in his heart, he would softly sing sweet lullabies to her while she slept. He was careful not to sing too loud so as no one else would hear and he wouldn't wake her. Just loud enough so it filled her dreams. If he heard her stir, he would stop and wait for her to resume her slumber. Each night his song would be sweeter, more heartfelt more loving.

And it was quite by accident that his nighttime serenade became the answer to his problem of how to teach her without revealing himself.

It was during a day when Christine was helping one of the dancers adjust her costume in her room, that the answer began to take shape. It was Meg Giry, daughter to Madame Giry the ballet instructor, who first noticed the tune Christine was humming to herself as she pinned the hem of Meg's skirt.

"What is that song? The melody is quite lovely." She asked, trying to stand still for fear of being stuck by the pins.

"I don't know. I have never heard it before, but I awake each morning with this tune running around in my mind." Christine sat back on the floor and looked thoughtful. "I can almost imagine the words but they remain out of my reach, living in that realm between sleep and awake."

"Sounds terribly mysterious to me." Meg replied, her face lighting up with intrigue.

"It is almost as if I can hear a voice at night, from far away, singing this tune to me over and over. But each time I bring myself fully awake, it is gone. Yet each night the song returns." Christine looked up at Meg and laughed nervously. "Do you think I am going mad?"

"No, of course not." Meg assured her, stepping off the stool she had been standing on. She sat carefully down on it and brought her face very close to Christine's so as not to be heard over her excited whisper. But Erik's ears were keen and from behind the wall, he heard everything.

"Many strange and unexplained things go on around here. Things disappearing, props moved mysteriously, shadows that appear out of nowhere, and voices…"

"Voices? What sort of voices?" Christine asked in a hushed whisper like Meg.

"Voices…from the Phantom." She took Christine's hands in hers and Christine could feel her trembling slightly from fear or excitement. "I have never seen him myself, but they say he has haunted the Opera House for years. He wears a long dark cape and a gentleman's hat and suit. And one side of his face is hidden behind a white mask. No one knows quite why, but we can only assume it is due to something he wishes for no one to see. Joseph Buquet, the prop mover, says that his eyes are like fire and if you remain too long under his gaze, you will burn from the heat."

"And how would he know this?" Christine asked, being swept along by her tale.

"He has been with the Opera House a long time, longer than even mother. He said that years ago the Phantom used to steal away unwary ballet dancers to sacrifice them to his monstrous appetite. Mother says he is lying, that he is just telling us those stories to frighten us, and I have to admit that Joseph is a bit odd. But you never know, like I said, he has worked here a long time."

So, Erik thought, he had Joseph Buquet to thank for a lot of the fear that surrounded his Phantom persona. Which was all good and well in keeping unwanted ghost seekers away from his underground home, but making him out to be a cannibal was going a bit far. He would have to make a point of someday frightening Buquet's wagging tongue into silence.

"Mother has even spoken to him." Erik heard Meg continue.

"Oh Meg, are you serious, or just trying to frighten me?" Christine asked, half expecting Meg to throw back her head and laugh at the joke she was now playing. But Meg remained serious.

"No Christine, it is the truth. Everyone knows about the Phantom, they are just too frightened to speak of him. Have you ever wondered why no one ever sits in Box 5?"

And now that Meg mentioned it, Christine had often noticed that those particular seats were always vacant.

"It is his box. He has instructed that it always be reserved for him alone. That is how my mother came to speak to him. One night as she was passing Box 5 during a performance, a voice from inside asked her to bring a program for the night's play. Without looking inside she went to fetch one. But when she returned there was no one in the seats. Thinking that they had left, she too began to go when a voice from nowhere spoke to her saying: 'Please leave the program before you go'. Well my mother was frightened quite out of her wits, and dropping the program on the floor she ran for the door. But just as she reached it, it slammed shut and would not open. 'Don't be frightened, Madame Giry. I am the Opera Ghost.' The voice explained. And even though she was still afraid, she ceased her struggle with the door, for she said that the voice sounded so kind and gentle it made her almost want to hear it again. 'What do you want?' She asked the Ghost. 'I require that for each performance you bring me a program. It is a small task for which you will be rewarded, and it would please me, Madame Giry.' He then thanked her for her time, the door opened unaided and my mother rushed out. When the performance was over my mother and the managers went back up to Box 5 and sure enough, the program was gone and on the ledge sat three franks. The managers then assigned mother as the official keeper of Box 5 and instructed her to do all she could to keep the Phantom happy. And so she has, leaving him a program for each performance since. When he comes to the plays he will leave her a few franks or sometimes, when he is in a particularly thoughtful mood, a box of English chocolates that she is so fond of. But she told me he has not been to Box 5 in some time. Not that this stops it from remaining vacant or from mother bringing a program. For who knows when he will chose to appear and they dare not risk his wrath. And the management even goes so far as to pay him 20 thousand francs a month, which disappears mysteriously while in plain view." Meg finished.

"What would a ghost want with money?" Christine asked, shaking her head in a disbelieving manner. This Phantom was not sounding much like your run-of-the-mill ghost and Christine had never been one who was easily persuaded into believing such fanciful tales. And yet…Meg did seem quite in earnest.

"Who knows, but it seems to keep him happy. Not so many incidents occur when he is paid regularly. But I myself have heard his haunting laugh as it echoed around the Opera and I have seen notes to the managers that he leaves for them containing instructions on how his theater should be run."

"His theater?" Christine repeated.

"Well, he is the Phantom of the Opera." She reasoned.

"But why haven't I seen any signs of him, or heard him?" Christine questioned, almost sounding disappointed.

"He has been quite uneventful lately. No one has seen or heard from him since he picked up his last salary. But who knows, maybe you have heard him. It could be him singing to you at night." Meg's eyes got very big at this idea.

"Oh, I don't think so. I'm quite sure that this Phantom has better things to do than take time out of his busy schedule of haunting to sing to me in my dreams." Christine laughed, causing Meg to look disappointed. "But..." Christine began as she got up and walked slowly over to her dressing table and sat down her box of pins. "…there was someone I thought it could have been."

"Who?" Meg asked getting all excited again

Christine began to answer, then turned away with a blush spreading across her face.

"No, you would laugh." She said, slightly embarrassed by her childish idea.

"I wouldn't, I promise. If you don't tell me I will just die of curiosity, I swear I will!" Meg pleaded.

And Meg wasn't the only one who was all ears at that moment. Erik was straining so hard to hear every word she may utter next that he feared his heart would beat right out of his chest.

"All right, but you have to promise that you will tell no one." Christine warned as she returned to sit by a fidgeting Meg. "When I was a little girl, my father told me that each great singer, if they were diligent in their studies and had the true desire to excel, would be visited by the Angel of Music. That the Angel would teach them things that only he could, and they would sing as no one on earth. And before he died, my father promised that he would send the Angel of Music to me." When she stopped, the blush of embarrassment returned. "It is a foolish idea, isn't it. A silly story made up for children."

"No, I think it is beautiful." Meg replied in a dreamy voice. "And why couldn't it be this Angel of Music? It is no less fanciful than my idea that it is the Phantom. Yours sounds so much more romantic though." Meg rested her chin on her hand and looked wistful. "Too bad there isn't an Angel of Dance."

"Who knows, there may be. If I ever find out for sure if this voice is the Angel of Music, I will ask him for you." Christine laughed, and Meg joined in. "But how can I find out?"

"Have you ever tried asking him?"

"No…It just recently occurred to me that it could be him. My father died several years ago, if he were going to send this Angel to me, why now? Why not sooner?"

"Now Christine, there are a lot of good singers in the world. You can't expect him to drop everything and come directly to you, can you? Maybe you weren't ready before now. There could be many good reasons, but the point is that he is here now. So don't go over analyzing the situation until he is gone, never to return."

"So you think I should try talking to this voice, this Angel?" Christine asked, daring to believe all of Meg's encouragement.

"You don't have anything to loose, and so much to gain." Meg pointed out.

At that moment Erik could have hugged the young dancer, if he were the type inclined to do so. Fate had smiled on him once again, and he made a mental note to do something nice for Meg as a thank you.

Before they could talk further, Madame Giry's voice was heard down the hall, calling the dancers together for further instructions. With a sigh Meg rose and headed for the door.

"Mother is a hard task master, but a least she is fair." She smiled. "Which doesn't work in my favor, because I can't get her to move me up to first row solely on the fact that we are related." She put the back of her hand to her forehead and gave a deep sigh. "But we all have our burdens we must bear."

"Just be sure you don't stab yourself with those pins before you change." Christine warned, laughing at Meg's dramatics.

"Ooo, ouch. Yes!" Meg agreed, remembering quite painfully their presence. Then with a wave she hurried down the hall.

Christine sat alone in her room and looked around, listening.

"Well Angel, if that is who you truly are. When will you reveal yourself to me?" She whispered.

Behind the barrier that separated the two, Erik laid his cheek against the cool wood as his fingers gently stroked the wall.

"Soon, my love, soon." He whispered back.

And for the briefest moment Christine entertained the idea that she had heard a voice…but only for a moment.

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Well there we have it. Like I said, this one is a bit different than Angel of Persia, but it is a fun little piece of fluff.

So what do you think of Erik? Good? Bad? Not bad enough? ha ha

How about Christine?

What about Erik's obsession with her?