Chapter 6

AUTHOR'S NOTE: In this chapter, there will be slight influences of the 2012 re-imagined UK tour of PotO. In the tour, you see the full descent into the lair, and none of the title song is recorded (except for the high notes at the end) – the Phantom and Christine sing the entire song live, including the beginning, which is traditionally recorded. I've only seen the trailer for the 2012 UK tour, and I doubt I will ever see the tour. But still.

About the mirror bride-doll – in Phantom 25, there was no mirror bride. She just fainted for no reason. I understand why they didn't have the mirror bride, because it was too big of a set piece to move through the tiny wings of the Royal Albert Hall. They had hardly any wing space for Phantom 25. But in my fanfic, I'm putting the mirror bride back in.

Also, about Raoul not coming into the dressing room until Christine and the Phantom are gone through the mirror… In Phantom 25, they had Ramin Karimloo sing the entire "I am your Angel of Music/Come to me, Angel of Music…" etc., etc. line without Hadley Fraser rudely interrupting and pounding on the door of the dressing room. There was no dressing room, so there was no door. And you got to hear Ramin sing the entire thing, which was amazing as usual.

Christine debated with herself, and then flung open the door, crying, "Raoul!" But he was nowhere in sight. Going to her vanity, she put her head in her hands. He probably thinks I'm mad, she thought despairingly. Thoughts of Raoul flew from her mind, however, as she felt her Angel's presence fill the room. Her head shot up, gray eyes wide as dread filled her.

"Christine."

In one word, she could hear his anger. He had been angry with her before, but never like this. "Angel," she said desperately, "it's not what you think-"

"Did you think you could hide it from me?" the Angel said in a dangerous tone, furious. "Did you think I wouldn't guess? Did you think I wouldn't know?"

"Angel, it's not like that-" Then he spoke the words Christine dreaded to hear:

"Have you forgotten your Angel?"

"Never!" she cried. She could not have him leave, not now. If he left, she would lose her voice forever, as the tale of the Angel of Music dictated. Christine knew it was just a story, but it was beginning to feel all too real.

But he continued as if she had not spoken. "Have you forgotten all I have done for you?"

"No!" Christine said desperately. She knelt before the mirror from where it seemed his voice was emitting, pleading. "Don't leave me, Angel! I'll do anything!"

There was a long moment of silence as Christine waited for him to reply, terrified that he had left her. Then her Angel began to sing.

It was a wordless melody filled with longing. His intoxicating voice enveloped her, and she surrendered to the power of the music. His voice filled her, controlling her, letting her soul soar. His presence surrounded her, and she closed her eyes, breathless from the sheer power of his voice. Christine opened her eyes to see a figure in the full-length mirror. He towered above her kneeling form, the right half of his face covered in a white porcelain mask. His dark hair was swept back, his handsome features pale, and his dark eyes gazed into hers. She felt as if she were drowning in his gaze.

Christine stood, gazing at the figure in the mirror. She gasped as the glass opened, and the man extended a hand to her. She saw his face clearly, and realized with a start that he looked almost exactly as her father had before he died. "Father?" she breathed.

"I am your Angel of Music," the man corrected her. She saw he wore a long black coat, an immaculate suit, and a black fedora that threw his face into shadow. "Come to me," he said in a rich, melodious voice. He began to sing again, and she could not risk obeying as his voice took control of her. Christine put her hand in his, and he led her through the mirror, extending an arm and covering her in his cloak.

Raoul came to Christine's dressing room door and knocked. There was no reply. He tried the door handle, and it opened.

"Christine!"

There was no one in the room.

Christine let herself be led by her Angel as cool darkness closed in around them. He lit a lantern, and the flame shed light in a circle around them. She could see nothing outside the ring of illumination, but trusted that her Angel would keep her safe. They walked in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Without even turned to look at him, she could feel his presence, strong and commanding. He held her wrist in firm but not fierce grip, his skin cool against her wrist. They turned a corner, and Christine gave a small scream of shock, feeling suddenly ill.

There were stories of catacombs, filled with skeletons, beneath the opera house, but Christine never believed they were true. The sight was gruesome- grinning skulls gazed at her through empty eye sockets, bones piled together. The Angel stepped close to Christine as she stood silent in horrified shock."Do not fear, my Christine," he said. He began to sing, leading her past the catacombs. As they left the grisly sight behind, she surrendered to his voice, replacing the horrifying image with the sight of her Angel. She willing let his voice penetrate her, letting it enter and fill her mind. The Phantom of the Opera is here inside my mind…

He led her to the edge of a dark lake, a thin veil of mist covering the surface of the water. An elaborate gondola was tied to small dock, and the Angel held out his hand to help her down the steps. She paused, looking back the way they had come, but the Angel put his fingertips on her chin, bringing her gaze from the passageway and back to him. "Come, Christine," he said in his rich, melodious voice that captivated her. He began to sing once more, another wordless melody, and she stepped into the boat, kneeling at the bow. The Angel entered the gondola behind her, gripping the pole, and they began to cross the lake.

Christine watched in wonder as they approached an island. Candelabras lined the isle, shedding light in the darkness. A huge pipe organ dominated the space, sheets of music scores piled nearby. Securing the boat, the Angel helped Christine to her feet, and she stepped onto the mysterious island. "This is where you live?" she said quietly, as if speaking louder would make the island and the Angel disappear. He nodded, removing his cloak and fedora as Christine approached the organ. She saw a large stack of sheet music bearing the title Don Juan Triumphant. "What is this?" she asked, brushing her fingertips over the pages.

"My opera," he said, coming to her side. "I have written it for you, my Christine."

"For me?" she said, looking up at him. Their eyes met, and she felt slightly breathless at the intensity of his gaze.

"It is not complete, but it will be a masterpiece," the Angel promised.

"Will you play it for me?"

"You are not ready for Don Juan."

"I will hear it once it is complete if I am to sing it," Christine said, leaning towards him. She was suddenly aware of how close she stood to him. Christine gazed into his eyes, and once again felt as she were drowning in his impossibly dark gaze. She reached up to his face, her fingertips brushing the porcelain mask.

The Angel suddenly gripped her wrist as she touched his mask, and she stepped away from her. The tension between them was palpable as they gazed into each other's eyes. Christine fought to control her breathing.

The Angel released his hold on her wrist. "If Don Juan is what you want to hear, then I will play it for you." He brushed past her, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

From the first chord, the music consumed her. The score was nearly dissonant, but had a powerful melody that flowed through Christine, possessing her. Two melodies weaved throughout the music, and she ached for resolution. Finally, the two strands of melody at last entwined, and her soul seemed to burn with the passion of the music. The Angel finished playing, and they gazed at each other. Christine was left breathless from the power of the music.

"When will your opera be complete?" she asked, trying to release the hold the music had had on her.

"Very soon," the Angel said. "I will eventually teach you the part of Aminta, the role I am writing for you. But first I must ensure your voice is healthy after the gala before you attempt Don Juan."

They returned to the tutor-student arrangement. The Angel worked on extending Christine's range, and she sang high than ever before. But now something else, another dynamic, had been added to their relationship. Christine could not name it, but they were not merely teacher and pupil any longer. The Angel could control Christine with his voice, leaving her breathless and yearning to hear him sing once more. When he sang, it was as if she became willing to hand over her soul to him. She could hardly control her emotions or thoughts, and she could not fight the dark beauty of the music. She felt, heard, sensed, and lived as she had never lived before. The Angel awoke emotions in Christine that she had never thought possible.

And that terrified Christine.

As they finished the lesson, her gaze left the music and scanned the room. In a corner stood a large shape hidden in shadow. Setting down the music on the organ, she approached the shape. As she moved closer, she found herself gazing at a large mirror frame with pieces of broken glass on the edges, as the center of the mirror had been broken long ago. A much more disturbing sight than a broken mirror greet Christine, however, as she found herself face-to-face with herself.

A wax figure stood before her. It was a perfect replica of Christine, with the same high cheekbones and brown curls that tumbled around its shoulders. It was clad in a beautiful white wedding gown, a veil on its curls and dried bouquet of flowers in its hands. Christine reached out to brush her fingertips against its cheek. The wax figure suddenly thrust its hands towards her, and Christine, startled, took a step back. She looked at the Angel, and she suddenly realized the connection between the wax figure in the wedding gown and the reason her Angel brought her to their dark place where music reigned.

He wanted to marry her.

Christine fainted.