Author's Note: I've been thinking about posting this for a while. It's a mildly humorous story (I hope!) inspired by Edmond Rostand's play Cyrano de Bergerac. If you have no knowledge of Cyrano de Bergerac, that shouldn't matter in the least, because I'm just using the central ideas in the play as my inspiration. However, if anyone would like a short synopsis of the play, just let me know and I'll post one at the beginning of the next chapter. The opening quote is taken from the play. I think it's very beautiful, and very Erik! I've included it in the hope of adding an element of the profound to something that I believe is going to be deeply silly…

For anyone reading 'The Toy Theatre', I promise I'll get back to it soon!

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy!

Erik de Bergerac

What admiration

Could possibly survive the sight of my profile?

I know what I look like. Oh, I admit that sometimes

In springtime, in the perfume of a garden,

By moonlight, I may envy passing lovers

And dream of being like them. My heart melts –

And then I see my shadow on the wall.

From Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand (Translated by Carol Clark).

Chapter One: A Performance at the Paris Opera House

1.

It was nearly teatime, and Erik was trying and failing to complete his latest piano concerto. He had hoped to complete it by the end of the week, but it was already Friday and he had spent most of the day writing snippets of romantic poetry and drawing love hearts. One of the love hearts was quite big, and it had the letters C-H-R-I-S-T-I-N-E scrawled inside it.

Erik looked at the little drawing and was greatly perplexed. He decided to use the considerable power of his intellect to work out what this cryptic symbol had to say about his state of mind. He pondered this difficult question for a good ten minutes, before shrugging his shoulders and giving up. Besides, he was required to attend the afternoon dress rehearsal for the new production of Hannibal, and it was time to get ready.

Erik was a singing teacher. So far he had only one pupil, but he hoped that this would change after said pupil had achieved success on the stage. The teaching was not his first choice of career (he longed to be a famous composer), but it distracted him from what, until recently, had been the closest thing he had ever had to a job: the role of professional Opera Ghost.

His life as the Opera Ghost hadn't been bad. It came with a regular salary of 20,000 francs per month, a lakeside apartment, and a private box reserved for him at every performance. It was quite an easy job, which had involved playing elaborate practical jokes on the management and giving constructive criticism to the performers and musicians.

Erik was trying his best to be a civilised singing teacher and not revert back to his ghostly persona, but sometimes the temptation was just too great. And besides, it was occasionally necessary to employ his more dubious talents to further the career of his one and only pupil.

He arrived in Box Five, the aforementioned private box, and peered down at the performers on the stage. Ubaldo Piangi, the principal tenor, appeared to be wrestling with a life-size plaster elephant. Erik happened to know that the elephant had been very expensive, and he hoped for the sake of the Opera House's annual budget that it would win the wrestling match. Carlotta, the principal soprano, was trying to give Piangi a leg-up onto the elephant's back. Monsieur Reyer, the repetiteur, and Madame Giry, the ballet mistress, looked completely unfazed. This sort of thing was all in a day's work for them. But Erik was impatient. The amateurish antics of the two leads annoyed him, and he decided the time had come to resurrect the Opera Ghost.

"Fools! Have I not forbidden you the stage of the Paris Opera?"

The disembodied voice echoed around the auditorium and made the crystals wobble on the chandelier. Startled, Carlotta let go of Piangi's foot. Piangi lost his grip on the elephant and fell to the stage in a heap.

"You displease me with your incompetence!" boomed the voice. "The elephant, with its legs like marble columns and its body like a huge grey boulder, is capable of far greater elegance than our two leads, who dance around the stage with as much grace as wooden puppets operated by a drunken puppeteer! O gifted beast! O glorious pachyderm! You may be crafted from plaster and wood, but you possess more spirit, more energy, more feeling, more acting ability, in one of your half-moon shaped toenails than Carlotta and Piangi possess in their entire, miserable, over-dressed, pompous carcasses! Thank you for your attention."

On the stage, Monsieur Firmin, one of the new managers of the Opera, looked quizzically at Monsieur Leferve, the retiring manager.

"Who's that, then?" he asked.

"Dunno," Monsieur Leferve replied. "He calls himself the Opera Ghost."

"What's he talking about?"

"No idea. He always talks like that."

"He uses so much hyperbole!" said Andre, the other new manager, putting his hands over his ears. "It's intolerable!"

"I know. That's why I'm leaving," said Leferve. "If you need me, I shall be in Frankfurt."

Leferve left the stage, followed by Carlotta, who refused to remain in the Opera just to be insulted, and Piangi, who had to carry her luggage. Satisfied, Erik leaned back against the shadowy wall of his box.

One person in the auditorium had been very impressed by the Phantom's speech. His name was Raoul de Chagny, and he was the Opera House's newest patron. Curious to gain some insight into what happened "behind the scenes," he had asked Monsieur Firmin if he could watch the rehearsal. Raoul had become rather bored with Piangi's countless attempts to climb aboard the elephant, but the Phantom's speech had really livened things up. In fact, he had enjoyed it so much that he decided to take notes for future reference. He particularly liked the word "pachyderm," and tried to remember what it meant. Something told him that it was the name of a rare and beautiful species of flower, possibly native to warmer climes. He resolved to look it up in his dictionary later, just to make sure.

Meanwhile, Erik was pleased to see that Madame Giry had persuaded the new managers to allow Christine Daae, his singing pupil of six months, to replace Carlotta. Poor Christine looked very nervous, but Erik had made sure she knew the role thoroughly, so he was certain she would be fine. No, she would be more than fine. She would be wonderful, glorious, magnetic, a sensation, and basically very, very good. Erik's heartbeat quickened as he looked down at her. He resolved to cut down on his intake of coffee.

2.

It was almost time for the opera to begin. Erik and Raoul had returned to their homes after the rehearsal to change for the evening ahead. They both took greater care than usual over their appearances. They couldn't think why. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

When they arrived in their respective boxes, both men were dressed impeccably in flawless eveningwear. They were also wearing the same brand of aftershave, although they were of course unaware of this coincidence.

Erik thought: I hope Christine sings more beautifully than ever, and I hope she thanks me after she has triumphed. I hope I haven't left dirty socks on my bedroom floor. Not that it matters, of course, as I have no plans to receive any visitors tonight. And I hope Christine doesn't have an engagement after the performance; not an engagement to be married, of course, but an engagement to go out to dinner or something. Although I wouldn't be too happy if she was engaged to be married, either. But I don't know why I'm thinking like this because it's absolutely none of my business and I don't care whether she gets married or goes out to dinner, or both, really. It's completely her choice and I have no intention of standing in her way, even if I wanted to, which I don't, of course. Or do I?

Such were poor Erik's confused thoughts.

Raoul's thoughts, on the other hand, reflected what most people in the auditorium were currently thinking. He thought: I hope Christine sings nicely, and I hope I understand the opera.

The opera began. An hour into the proceedings, Raoul and Erik were both thinking the same thing: that they were in love with Christine Daae.

It was the Think of Me aria that did it. Erik had been waiting nervously for this aria, knowing that once it was over Christine would have a fine career ahead of her and he could relax. But all he felt, after he had heard her sing, was horror. Horror that Christine didn't need him anymore. Horror that he wouldn't have another excuse to talk to her. Then he realised that he couldn't bear to be without her company. The meaning of the mysterious doodled hearts was suddenly painfully clear. He was in love. He had been in love for months. He resolved, then and there, that he would ask her to dinner after the performance.

Raoul wasn't horrified. His childhood friend had turned into a beautiful, talented young woman. He was enchanted. He decided to go and see her after the performance. He would take her to supper at the bistro across the street. If she hesitated to join him, he would woo her with words of love. Or at least he would try to.

3.

"Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me. Excuse me."

Raoul de Chagny was trying to find Christine Daae's dressing room. Unfortunately, the backstage corridors were crowded with patrons. He trod on the toes of a bank manager, bumped into a famous writer, and caused a journalist to drop a bouquet of flowers. Of course, Raoul didn't know that these three men were a bank manager, a famous writer and a journalist. Their professions were hardly relevant because they were all equally angry with him and used the same swear words.

He asked a passing ballerina where Christine's dressing room was. She pointed down a dimly lit passageway. Raoul went down the dimly lit passageway. At the end, he found a dimly lit woman standing in front of a dimly lit door.

The dimly lit woman was Madame Giry. Raoul recognised her from the rehearsal that afternoon. She stood before the door, as unmovable and forbidding as a sphinx guarding a pyramid, both hands resting on the top of her cane.

Raoul knew nothing about sphinxes, and very little about pyramids, so this comparison did not occur to him. All he knew was that Madame Giry was in his way, and she looked very stern.

"Good evening, Madame Giry," said Raoul. "I'm Raoul de Chagny. Is this Christine Daae's dressing room?"

"Yes," said Madame Giry.

"Is she in there?"

"Yes," said Madame Giry.

"May I see her?"

"Yes," said Madame Giry.

"Thank you," said Raoul.

Madame Giry made no effort to move.

"Er," said Raoul.

"You may see her," said Madame Giry. "If you can answer me these questions three."

Raoul sighed. "All right. But can we please be quick?"

"It will take as long as it will, and possibly a bit longer," said Madame Giry, who was enjoying this. "First question. What is your name?"

"I already told you that!" said Raoul, exasperated.

"What is your name?" Madame Giry repeated.

"Raoul de Chagny!"

"Correct. How do you know Christine Daae?"

"We were childhood friends."

"Correct. And now, the final question: What did Little Lotte think of?"

Raoul smiled. Fortunately, he knew the answer to this rather obscure question. "Everything and nothing!"

"Correct. You may pass," said Madame Giry, stepping aside.

"Thank you," said Raoul uncertainly. He knocked on the door.

"Come in!" said a voice. Her voice.

Raoul opened the door with a shaking hand.

Christine was sitting at her dressing table. She was wearing a white dressing gown over her costume from the opera. Raoul thought she looked very nice.

"Raoul!" she said, rushing over and embracing him. "It's so lovely to see you! I knew you'd come!"

"Well, I was just passing…" said Raoul shyly. He was suddenly unable to look at her face, so he looked at her shoes instead. They were very nice shoes, white and high-heeled with tiny blue beads on the toes. After looking at her shoes intently for a few moments, he became embarrassed. He felt as if her shoes were too good for him to look at, so he looked at his own shoes instead, which were black and reassuringly boring.

"I hope Madame Giry was nice to you," said Christine.

"Er, well, nice isn't quite the right word. She was more sort of…strange."

"Oh, I know!" Christine laughed. "She's wonderful, isn't she? I gave her strict instructions to admit no one except Raoul de Chagny."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to be disturbed by strangers. It seems that lots of people suddenly want to ask me to dinner, but Madame Giry soon sends them packing. Are you going to ask me to dinner?"

"No, of course not," said Raoul quickly. "Why should I want to do that? Ha ha ha!"

Christine gave him a funny look, which Raoul missed because he was too busy looking at his shoes.

"What do you mean?" said Christine.

"Nothing!" said Raoul, realising that he might, possibly, have said the wrong thing.

"Why don't you want to ask me to dinner?" Christine asked, sounding hurt.

"Because you said you didn't want to go…"

"I said nothing of the sort!"

"But…"

"Look, Raoul, are you going to ask me to dinner or not?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," said Raoul. "I'm sorry, I'm a little confused."

"I thought we could go to the bistro and have a proper talk," said Christine. "I could have told you all about my life here at the opera, and about my wonderful singing teacher, but you're obviously not interested. You seem more interested in your own feet."

"But I am interested in you, Christine," said Raoul.

There was a silence. Christine put her hands on her hips.

"And what, exactly, do you mean by that?"

"Only that I find you…interesting," Raoul stammered.

"As a friend?" Christine asked, raising an eyebrow.

"As an admirer!" said Raoul, before he could stop himself. "I think I love you, Christine!"

Christine seemed to consider this. "You think you love me?" she said. "And what does that mean, precisely?"

"It means I think I love you, but I can't be sure, because I've never been in love before," Raoul said quietly. He was feeling rather overwhelmed. This was not the Christine he remembered. She had once been such a gentle, simple, pure creature, who would never play mind games, or employ a ballet mistress as her personal bodyguard.

"You do know, Raoul, that love's a very serious thing?" said Christine. "You shouldn't make declarations of love when you're not completely sure how you feel."

"But I know how I feel, Christine," said Raoul desperately. "I love you. I've fallen under your spell, O glorious pachyderm!"

There was a moment of silence.

"What did you call me?" Christine said.

"A glorious pachyderm," said Raoul. "I believe it's a sort of flower…"

"No, Raoul. A pachyderm is a large, thick-skinned mammal, such as an elephant."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. I thought it was a compliment…I didn't mean I thought you looked like an elephant, because you really don't, you know."

"Listen, Raoul," Christine sighed. "If you don't have anything remotely interesting to say, then I'd rather you just left me alone. I've had a hard day, and I'm tired."

To his immense horror, Raoul realised that he didn't have anything remotely interesting to say.

"Goodbye, then, Christine," he said sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Goodbye," said Christine. But she wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was looking into the huge mirror which covered one wall of her dressing room. Raoul sighed, and closed the door behind him. As he walked back down the dimly lit passageway, Madame Giry watched him from the shadows.

4.

Erik arrived at Christine's dressing room fifteen minutes after Raoul had departed. He took one look at Christine's face and knew immediately that something was wrong.

"You've been crying. What's the matter?"

Christine turned towards the mirror, which had now become transparent on her side of the wall. She smiled when she saw Erik's familiar figure standing behind it. "Oh, Erik, I'm so glad you're here. I've done something terrible."

"I'm sure it can't be as bad as that," Erik said kindly, as he pushed the mirror open and stepped into the dressing room. "What have you done?"

"I've just been absolutely beastly to Raoul."

"Who's Raoul?"

"An old friend. We've known each other since we were children, but this is the first time I've seen him since I went to study at the conservatoire. He's the Vicomte de Chagny. Surely you know his brother, Count Philippe?""

"Yes," said Erik. "Not personally, but I've heard of him."

"Raoul said he thought he loved me, but he wasn't sure," said Christine. "Which was fine, I suppose. But then he called me a pachyderm, believing it to be a flower and not a large, thick-skinned mammal such as an elephant."

"Oh," Erik said. "Well, it's an easy mistake to make, I suppose."

"He always manages to say the wrong thing, Erik," Christine sighed. "I lost my patience with him and told him to go away, and now I'm worried I'll never see him again."

"Why do you want to see him again if he always says the wrong thing?" Erik asked.

"Because I think I love him too!"

This revelation didn't do much for Erik's confidence, and he staggered slightly, leaning against Christine's wardrobe for support.

"Ah!" he said. Christine took this to be a sympathetic noise of understanding, when it was actually an exclamation of acute emotional pain.

"The thing is, and I know it sounds very silly, but I think I'd soon fall out of love with Raoul if he's really as boring as he seems. If we got married, I can't begin to imagine what we'd spend all our time talking about. But on the other hand, he's always been so kind and well-mannered and brave…"

Christine's eyes were starting to glaze over. She smiled a dreamy smile.

"But you love music, Christine," Erik said in desperation. "What if it turns out that Raoul has no talent for music? What if he's tone-deaf?"

Christine snapped out of her trance and stared at Erik with a look of horror on her face. "Then I'd die! Well, perhaps I wouldn't go quite that far, but I'd be very, very, very disappointed." She paused, and then she started to smile again. "But he is so very, very, very handsome."

"Is he?" Erik said sadly. "That's nice for him."

Christine looked directly at him and blushed slightly with embarrassment. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Erik! What a bore I am! I won't say anything more about him."

"It doesn't matter," Erik said. He realised that Christine was looking at him with a concerned expression.

"Are you all right? You don't look very well," said Christine.

"I haven't had much to eat today, that's all."

"You poor thing," said Christine. "You've gone very pale."

"Have I?"

"Perhaps you're getting a cold. You know, you should really cover your nose with a scarf or something. Do you often get colds?"

"Quite often, yes."

"Here," Christine took her red scarf from the hook on the back of the door. "Borrow my scarf."

Deeply moved by her simple gesture of kindness, Erik stared at the scarf.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly…"

"I insist," said Christine.

She stepped closer to him and began to wind the long scarf round his neck, over his disfigured lips, and finally over the hole where his nose should have been.

"There," she said. "Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you," said Erik, his voice muffled by several layers of wool.

"Dear Erik," Christine said, putting her arms around him and giving him a gentle hug. "You're the best singing teacher in the world, and the best friend I've ever had."

"Thank you, Christine," Erik said softly. "I'm...very fond of you, too."

"Now you go home at once, have something to eat, and get an early night," Christine said.

"Yes, Christine," he replied obediently.

"And I had better write to Raoul and apologise."

"I'm sure he'll forgive you."

"I hope so," she smiled. "Thank you for listening, Erik. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Christine."

Erik was crying by the time he reached his underground home. Touched by Christine's kindness, and crushed by his inability to win her love, he went to sleep hugging her scarf.