(A/N: Hello! This is my very first Phantom of the Opera phic, so it's very exciting. Now, I could have actually attempted to use whatever writing skills I could dredge up to write something of deep profound…ness, but unfortunately, this came out instead! This is just an introduction to a phic that will rewrite the path of the story itself. Not well, but hopefully humorously. :))

It was a dark and stormy night, not that you could tell all the way underground in the Phantom's lair. Erik was experiencing the same dim quality of light he regularly enjoyed; however, there was doubtless a very stormy atmosphere present in the cavernous underground depths, the clouds hanging lowest over a heavily cloaked, hunched figure sitting at his organ.

Erik had lost his voice.

How could this happen, an observer may have asked, shocked and dismayed by this plot point. As plaintively as some would have wept over this spectacle, none was more upset than the Phantom himself, his naturally distorted brow furrowing so intensely that for a few moments his skin had taken on the unmistakable look of a passionfruit.

La Carlotta would be screeching with joy at this fairly ironic situation, had she known, and of course, had her pride (and voice) had sufficient time to recover. For it was only two days since that pivotal performance where the Phantom had really let his presence be known, two long, suffering, heart-wrenching days since Erik had discovered his Christine, his pure, innocent, trusting Christine in the arms of a foppish Viscomte!

It was the chilly weather he'd immersed himself in while on the Opera House's roof, undoubtedly, which caused this untimely disaster. And it certainly didn't help that he'd spent the next several hours crouched at the top of a statue, deeply inhaling icy gasps of wind in order to shout himself hoarse at the injustice of life. And in his favourite, open, ruffled shirt…

The pounding rain could be heard all the way from the deserted streets outside. As it was joined by its good friend hail, the Phantom slowly began to bash his head against the keys of the organ. Being the musical genius he undoubtedly was, however, instead of a violent clashing of notes there came a beautiful melody that would have made Mozart cry. Cry in a good way, that is. A good, jealous way. Finally, having made a large but barely noticeable dent in his favourite mask, Erik leapt to his feet and shouted, "Even the Heavens weep for Erik!"

Unfortunately, all that the pitiful Phantom heard spout from his mouth was the rasping of an unfit fifty-year-old asthmatic, having just completed a water aerobics session. Or the rasp of a throat badly infected with laryngitis.

Erik clutched at his throat and rolled his eyes in despair. How on Earth was he supposed to woo Christine back to his desperate arms if he could not even sing for her? Angels did not lose their voices! Even though it was almost certain that Christine had unmasked his Angel disguise and finally discovered the (pretty obvious) truth, Erik didn't want to take any chances with the one trump card he'd managed to procure in this whole affair. Well, the one trump card apart from his wardrobe of endless ruffled shirts missing buttons in all the right places. Not to mention the tight pants, sexy mask and ravishing wig… but that's beside the point. No, his main advantage had been his entrancing, intoxicating voice, and now even that had abandoned him.

The man reluctantly plopped himself back down at his organ and stared into space despondently. What was he to do? His only good quality, the one talent that had saved him from eternal loneliness and indifference was his voice, the miraculous instrument given to him by God himself, probably in a guilty attempt to make up for the horror of his face.

As he sat and glared at the music in front of him, the notes blurring to become the teensy black dots of absolutely no meaning known to any reluctant musician, he had a sudden idea. A rather obvious idea, considering his current position.

"Of course!" He whispered, enthusiastically. "I'll finish the opera! By the time it's completed, my voice will have to have returned! And then… Christine will be mine! Mwah ha HACK HACK!"

And with that, he collapsed upon the floor and merely gave a weak (yet intense) smile to convey his excitement.