A/N: Okay, so this is my very silly entry to the Erik Meets Erik phic contest in the Erika's Lair Discord. Enjoy! :))

Where had it all gone wrong?

No matter how many times The Phantom replayed the moment in his head, he could not seem to understand how his night had ended in disaster. He had only wanted Christine to see the exquisite wedding gown he designed. To help her imagine how beautiful she would look in the dress, he even placed it on a mannequin that looked like her.

He had spent so long crafting that lovely life-sized doll, painstakingly poring over every single detail to make sure that it resembled his beloved Christine to the tee. It was so perfect, so uncanny in its resemblance to her that he had spent countless lonely nights cradling it in his arms, imagining that he was holding the real, living woman he loved.

He had been waiting patiently, anticipating the ideal moment to bring her to his lair, his seat of sweet music's throne. And when that insolent boy crudely invited himself into her dressing room, he knew then that it was time to profess his undying love for her before the blasted Vicomte whisked her away.

Now, however, as he carried the unconscious Christine in his arms, he wondered whether showing her his mirror bride was the right move. Their night had started out so wonderfully. After Christine's triumphant debut, he had brought her into his world, shared with her his music of the night, enticed her with promises of otherworldly delights that he alone can give.

Then, it was time for the finale. For so long, he had been planning this grand romantic gesture, imagining the look of awe on Christine's face when she realized just how deeply her Angel loved her, how much he wished for her to be his wife.

He had planned the illusion perfectly, intending for the mannequin to bow gracefully upon being unveiled. When he had led Christine to the frame and pulled the cover from it, he had hoped that seeing a replica of herself in a bridal gown would allow her to picture a possible future where they could be together.

Alas, instead of bowing, the damned thing collapsed! It lunged at Christine and the poor woman fainted at the sight. His master plan had failed, his heart in pieces, his ego in ruins! The Phantom, who had masterfully instilled fear in the hearts of all who worked in the opera house, was bested by a mannequin!

How was he to win Christine's heart now?

As he lay her sleeping form on his boat and tenderly covered her with his cloak, he began pondering his next move… He rarely ever made use of the only unbroken mirror in his home, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Perhaps, a little reflection could be valuable.

Taking slow, unsure steps, he made his way to his workroom. There he kept a large mirror encased in a bronze frame. He stared into the glass and gazed at the face that stood in front of him.

The reflection was not his own.

Instead of seeing his own mismatched brown and blue eyes staring back at him, he saw golden ones regarding him shrewdly. The face in front of him was horrific—perhaps even more horrible than his own distorted visage—with its sunken eyes, yellow and tightly stretched skin, and lack of a nose. Seeing the gruesome death's head was unnerving, even to a man who only had half a face.

"Well, well," the Face said with a wicked grin, "you must be truly desperate to seek help from me."

The Phantom rolled his eyes. "Wonderful seeing you too, Erik."

It had been so long since he last stooped so low. Why, he was a genius! Surely, he could come up with a plan to win Christine's heart without resorting to asking for help from this… this warped version of himself!

Still, he truly had no idea what to do next. Who else could he ask for advice? Madame Giry?! No, no. That would be ridiculous.

Despite how it pained his ego to be in front of this mirror again, The Phantom swallowed his pride. "I was hoping you could… assist me in finding a solution to my dilemma."

The Face—Erik—grinned widely. "Finally admitting that Erik is the smartest Phantom, are we?"

"Referring to yourself in the third person does not make you special, Erik." The Phantom retorted, fighting his strong urge to walk away and leave this conversation with his ego intact. He wished then that he hadn't left his cloak on Christine. This was the perfect moment for a dramatic exit, and it just wouldn't be complete without a theatrical cape swoosh.

Instead, he relented and sighed, "However, I do need advice. The matter involves… Christine."

At this statement, Erik's smile dissipated and his expression softened. The two Phantoms seemed to reach a silent understanding. After all, who else would be sympathetic to their plight?

With a soft click, the latch was released and the mirror door slid open. The corpse-faced Erik stepped aside and gestured for his half-masked counterpart to enter.

Inside the mirror was a large room that was filled to the brim with instruments of all sorts. Various paintings of Christine (some blonde, others brunette) hung on the walls. There was also a large shelf stuffed with an assortment of books (architecture textbooks, ventriloquism resource books, romance novels, and even Taxidermy for Beginners).

At the center of the room was a long dining table with plenty of chairs. It was clearly meant for a great number of people, but only one man was sitting there at the moment. The Phantom groaned when he saw who it was.

Much like himself, the man also had a white half-mask, only smaller. The man, who was currently enjoying a cup of tea, wore a flowery dark red vest and an elegant aristocratic coat.

"Gerik," the Phantom said through gritted teeth.

Upon hearing the nickname that the other Phantoms have made up for him, the man looked up in surprise. "Merik, what a surprise! It's been too long. We've missed your presence during the monthly meetings."

"Yes, well, I'm not here to stay." The Phantom—apparently called Merik by the other Eriks—replied brusquely.

"Then why are you here?" Gerik inquired.

Erik interjected, "He's here to ask for advice about his Christine."

Gerik nodded understandingly. "Very well. I suppose we're on the same boat."

"Yes," Erik agreed, "we all want a wife to walk with on Sundays."

"We all want to get rid of that damned Vicomte," Merik added.

"And we are all horrifically deformed," Gerik said as he flexed his muscles.

The other two Phantoms glared at him.

"What?!" Gerik exclaimed "I speak the truth. You look like a living skeleton," he pointed to Erik. "And you have a warped cheek, swollen lips, and exposed skull tissue," he said to Merik.

"Meanwhile, I have a face that no mother could love." Gerik wiped the tears from his eyes and gazed broodingly into the abyss.

Erik scoffed. "You call that bad sunburn a deformity?"

Gerik opened his mouth to reply but Merik interrupted him. "Monsieurs, please. I have no time for a petty fight. My Christine is currently passed out in my lair, and I don't know how to make things right between us."

Erik took his seat at the head of the table and gestured for Merik to sit beside him. "What happened?"

"Everything was going perfectly. I guided her through the mirror, took her on a romantic boat ride, all the while serenading her."

"Of course, of course." The other two Phantoms nodded.

"However, she fainted when I showed her my Christine mannequin and I'm worried that she'll still be frightened when she wakes up."

Gerik seemed to be deep in thought. "But I see nothing wrong with what you've done. It was a romantic gesture! When I first brought my Christine to my lair, I even showed her all of my drawings of her and my mini Christine figurines! It's the best way to show her how she inspires your art. She is your angel, your muse!"

"Exactly, thank you!"

Erik interrupted. "And what did you do after she fainted?"

"I just lay her body on the boat and covered her in my cloak."

Erik nodded. "A most gentlemanly response."

Gerik agreed. "Yes, but did you remember to remove her stockings?"

"Why would I remove her stockings?"

Gerik shrugged. "Have you ever slept with your stockings on? Imagine how uncomfortable she is right now."

"Anyway," Merik groaned, "I'm at a loss. How do I proceed? How can I win her heart if she's frightened by my expression of love?"

Erik leaned forward and looked Merik in the eye. "The answer is simple, really. You have to force her hand."

"How would I do that?"

Erik smirked. "If Erik were in your place, he would simply make her choose. Either she'll marry you and be your living bride or she'll have to watch Paris burn."

"That seems a bit extreme…"

Gerik spoke up. "Might I offer a different solution? Don't threaten all of Paris, just her boy! Tie the Vicomte to your portcullis and threaten to kill him if she doesn't love you."

Merik seemed to consider this suggestion. "Perhaps, but I don't think tying the boy to the portcullis will kill him… I could use my Punjab lasso on him instead."

The other two Eriks nodded in agreement.

"Then, it's settled," Merik said as he stood up. "I will make her love me by threatening to kill the boy! Thank you for your input, gentlemen. This was a most fruitful discussion."

As the Phantom moved to walk out of the mirror, another man, seemingly older than both Merik and Gerik, walked into the room. Much like Merik, he was wearing a white half-mask. But instead of his signature silk two-piece tailsuit, black dress cloak and fedora, the man wore a dark suit and a black cravat underneath a long, flowing coat.

"STOP!" the man exclaimed, "Don't do this, Merik."

Merik eyed the man with suspicion. "And who might you be? I've never seen you here before."

"You may address me as Mr. Y. I've overheard your discussion and I must stop you from making the same mistakes I made in my youth. If you continue down this path, you will surely lose your Christine."

Whatever confidence Merik felt while he moved to walk out of the room quickly faded. A part of him sensed that Mr. Y was right. He loved Christine, loved her more than anything in the world—more than his many inventions, more than the buildings he had designed, more than even his music. He sat back down by the table and let the sadness consume him. "I know that she would never love me of her own free will. How could she love this beast, this loathsome gargoyle who burns in Hell? Forcing her hand is the only way…"

Mr. Y placed a gentle hand on Merik's shoulder. "Forcing her will only make her hate you more. Trust me, I was in your place ten long years ago. You have to let her go and let her make her own choices. When I set my Christine free, she came and found where I hid. And she loved me that night beneath a moonless sky. Truly, genuinely loved me."

"And is your Christine still with you then?" Merik looked up at him, his mismatched eyes gleaming with hope.

"Uhh, errr…" Mr. Y cleared his throat. "My point is, you and your Christine have a connection. Your music. Instead of forcing her hand, perhaps you could remind her of your connection through the beauty of your song."

Merik stood up with renewed confidence. "You're right. I can give her what the boy never could." He moved to walk out of the room but quickly looked back before exiting. "Thank you, Mr. Y."

Upon leaving the room within the mirror, The Phantom ran to the washroom. He knew what he had to do. After changing into his sleeping wear, he sat by his organ and began composing. He had to write her the perfect song, something that could finally express the depth of his affection toward her. Something that could make her realize the strength of their connection.

He immersed himself into his music, his mind flowing with ideas, his heart bursting with passion. He played for hours and hours and hours.

So consumed was he in his compositions that he had not noticed the fully conscious Christine walking toward him, ready to snatch the mask from his face.