Inspiration: I was at my "twin's" house the other day. Her mom or sister or someone was watching one of those melodramatic Spanish soap operas on TV. Somehow the topic of how much the writers get paid for these "telenovela" scripts came up.

So I figured, I could do that! All you have to do is come up with a cast of conflicted characters with strange little quirks and put them through every single semi-believable dramatic crisis you can think of—at the same time!

Since I am a HUGE Phantom phan, this idea came to me after I heard one of the characters on TV call someone a "Fop." Why not write a Phantom Soap Opera?

Here it is, for your enjoyment (or not. If you don't like please tell me why so I can improve it for you)!

Disclaimer: You know the drill! All the characters you know are from Phantom are obviously not mine and I have no claims on them. But any you don't know probably are mine, as are the ridiculous situations the characters are placed in; which spring from the dangerous combination of creativity and boredom.

Clarification: Characters based on the 2004 movie because I adore Gerry's interpretation. Except the deformity because I think it could've been so much better. And the swordfight because, seriously, Erik losing to Raoul? A fop? A FOP? Just trim his hair! It's the source of his power!

Mi padre, el Fop
(My Father, The Fop)

Prologue-The Pilot Episode

When did I, Christine Daae, become Christine de Chagny? Was it when I married Raoul? When we spoke our vows? Was it the kiss that sealed the deal? Or perhaps not yet, until that night, when we consummated our love for one another.

Or maybe it was the first time I kissed him, really kissed him… The first time my eyes met his and I knew the love in his eyes was reflecting what was in my own…

I think, I think it was when…I think—when he sang to me! Atop the roof that night, he sang to me of his love. Yes, that was when I was his. At that moment, forever, I belonged to no-one else.

At least in body…

For I had been sung to before! My soul belonged to another. My angel. My precious angel. I loved him…

…but as a mentor, a tutor, an angel! For crying out loud, he was like a surrogate father! How could he have ever expected me to love him as a woman loves a man?

When he had sung those heartbroken words "Christine, I love you," my heart had shattered…

…my mind, on the other hand, had been terribly confused. Why was everyone singing everything lately? Whenever something happened, everyone burst into song. Even myself! How did I know the words? I don't know. I just did. And where in the world did all that music come from? Never before the Opera Ghost incident had anyone randomly burst into song like that, and it has never happened since. I suppose somewhere out there, there must be some British man to blame. That's what Raoul always says. "Blame the British." But I thank them, because if they were responsible then I can never repay them for the beautiful—albeit perplexing—music.

Oh my angel, and I never even knew his name until it was too late! I remember the exact day I discovered it. Raoul rushed in that late afternoon, his gigantic smile reflecting the sunlight and blinding me momentarily. Without a word he tossed his papers on the table and rushed to my side, scooping me up in an embrace.

"Christine!" he said, ecstatic and twirling me around to show it. "We're rich! We're rich!" He put me down and I sighed, patting his head.

"Raoul, did you fall and hurt yourself again? You're speaking nonsense, love. We're already rich." I said good-naturedly., casually checking his forehead for bumps or a temperature.

He laughed and shook his head energetically. "No, dearest! We're richer." He took my hand and rushed me down the stairs in a blur. Before I could even ask him to explain, he was holding a newspaper before my eyes. "Look!" He shouted, pointing erratically. "One of my investments finally pulled through!" He sat down on the chaise with a chuckle. "And they said men's hair products would never fly. Fools!" I shook my head and sat beside him, letting my head rest on his broad chest and looking up at him fondly. Despite, or perhaps because of, his childishness I loved him. I really could not think of my life beside any other man.

After he had relaxed, Raoul began flipping through the newspaper. He said he was looking for news of international affairs, but I caught him steal several a glace and the gossip section. I said nothing. Why ruin his illusions? As long as he thought that I thought he was an intellectual, we were happy.

Then my eyes fell upon those terrible words. An obituary notice read: Erik is dead. At first I thought nothing of it; I didn't know anyone named Erik. But printed under it, in the smallest and probably cheapest font I've ever seen, were the words: As is the music of the night. I felt like a blow had been dealt to my underbelly. I stood, willing the tears away. Raoul should not—could not see me like this! Frantically I fought for breath, using my trained diaphragm to draw in and push out as much air as possible. Still it was nowhere near enough, and I felt the room spinning. As my vision blurred, I was vaguely aware of a sound…like a little bird chirping in my ear. Little bird, little bird, sing with me. Then the chirping grew frantic, and I regained enough sense to realize it was Raoul; calling my name desperately. Why, I was in his arms, on the floor! When had I lost my footing?

There were other sounds now, though they no longer were delightful little birds. No, now the sounds were painful screeching noises. I tried to bring my hands up to cover my ears, but found I could not move. Oh! I ached! All over, I ached!

There was something calling me; something far yet not foreign. It was sleep, I realized. Yes, I was so tired. The world around me was cold and so painful! Sleep seemed inviting; the warmth it provided was like laudanum. Slowly I let myself slip into the dark abyss, willing sleep to envelop me and peel my pain away.

I woke like I usually did any other morning. Nothing felt unusual, in the least. But when I opened my eyes I saw strange people around me. Tilting my head in confusion, I looked out the window. It was night outside. What was going on?

An elderly man came to my side and patted my hand. "It's alright my dear. I'm Doctor Ess CharGoe. These are my nurses," he motioned to a pair of fairly attractive women, not much older than myself, "Miniôn and Filét." At first I though I was seeing double, until they each waved at me differently. Ah, identical twins.

I gave the most sincere smile I could muster and turned back to Doctor Ess CharGoe, my expression pleading for an explanation. "Oh yes, you must be wondering what the dickens is going on. Pardon my French." I raised an eyebrow. Pardon his French? Weren't we all French? Well, except for me but… "Anyway, I'm afraid you simply had a bit of a fit. That's all. Oh, but don't be troubled my girl!" Raoul burst into the room, cutting the good Doctor off in the middle of his explanation.

"Christine! Oh, my little Lotte!" He rushed forward and seized me in a zealous embrace. "This is wonderful news!" I stared at him, mouth agape. Good news? Me having a fit was good news? Maybe he had hit his head after all.

The good Doctor noticed my reaction and gently addressed Raoul. "Monsieur le Victome, the lady has yet to be informed!" With an embarrassed cough Raoul moved away, running a hand through his hair nervously. "Now, Madame le Victomess," Doctor Ess CharGoe said, "you are almost two months with child."

Forgetting all about his foolish actions just a moment before, Raoul rushed forward and took me in another rib cracking hug. I winced, the words barely beginning to set in. A child? Good God! A child? Raoul smiled. "A boy Christine! Oh, I hope it's a boy!" He pranced around, suddenly unaware or our company. "My heir! My heir! Yes, he will be just like me!" I blanched. For however much I adored Raoul, I could not stand the thought of having to deal with TWO of him! Raoul saw me pale and took my hand, kissing each finger delicately. "Christine? Dearest?" I shook my head and smiled.

"It is wonderful news, Raoul. Only, perhaps a little girl would be nice. A little girl who, preferably, takes after…me?" Raoul nodded, agreed dismissively, then continued to jump up and down about how it had to be a boy. I sighed, thanking the Doctor and the twins as they left. Raoul paid them, but said little. He was probably trying to keep himself from lunging out the window and informing all of Paris about our child, surely a son!

Blocking out Raoul's squeals of delight, I looked to the mirror. If I ever had a son I had always planned to name him Gustave, after my father. But now…

"Raoul." I said, interrupting his frolic in our bathroom as he changed. "If it is a boy, could I name him?"

"Of course, Lotte! Anything you wish! A son, my heir! Just imagine it! My image, only smaller! How glorious!" My eyes widened at the scary thought of a mini-Raoul.

"And if it is a girl, you may name it." If it was a boy I would give him the name of the man who I could, at the moment, think of only as Raoul's opposite. Perhaps something of my angel's would rub off on my son.

"Two months, dearest!" Raoul said, practically jumping into bed beside me. "Almost two months! That's how long we've been married! Do you think he was conceived on our wedding night?" I shrugged. It was a very romantic idea; the thought of our love creating life the very first time. "It is a blessing." He continued, laying back and taking me into his arms. "Our child will be perfect." He planted the sweetest little kiss on my forehead, and drifted off to sleep.

"Hopefully not as 'perfect' as his father." I murmured to myself as I too gave in to the darkness.

Please R&R and tell me if I should continue! If you don't, I probably will anyway...But I won't like it!