Seductive Song Phics for the Phantom Lover's Soul Chapter 1: I Write Sins, Not Tragedies, a phantom of the opera fanfic

Disclaimer: If I had owned the Phantom of the Opera, I wouldn't have made Christine choose Raoul. I'd have her choose Erik. But sadly, Christine then finds out that she has been unfortunately replaced by a much kinder, more understanding Christine (me!) and Erik couldn't be happier. But I don't own Phantom, so my fantasies will remain mere fantasies. Humph! Bother… Oh, and I don't own "I Write Sins, Not Tragedies" by Panic! At the Disco. Can't forget about them!

A/N: This story is set about 6 months after the 2004 movie has ended, and although Philippe is only a character that was used in the original PotO novel, I felt the overwhelming need to use him in here. In that case, I don't own Philippe either.

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies

By The Sweet Allure of Lady Red Death

A One-shot, song-fic

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She twisted the ring self-consciously around her finger. The reflection of its breath-taking diamond glittered radiantly, as it caught the soft light of the afternoon sun. The light continued to brighten up the room through a giant, stained glass window. Her large, brown eyes widened as she took in the sight before her.

"Why, Miss Daae, aren't you a pretty thing?" Madame Giry smiled, fixing the train of Christine's dress, so that it fell nicely behind her. "The Victome will be pleased."

The dress was white, made of satin and lace. It fitted Christine perfectly, as it should of. The gown had been tailored to her very measurements. It spread out around her like the delicate petals of a flower. It flowed gracefully, like a rippling stream of fine fabric. Christine had exquisite taste and a wonderfully acute eye for detail. Picking her wedding dress was, surprisingly, one of the most easiest decisions that she had ever made.

Untamed dark tresses spilled down her back and fell over her shoulders, contrasting dramatically with her porcelain complexion. Christine gave a coy smile to the mirror and reached up to adjust her veil. Once doing so, Christine dropped her hands to her sides and gently gripped the border of white puff.

"Madame," she whispered, "if you don't mind…I'd like to have a moment alone."

Madame Giry looked up from her fixations. She blinked dazedly at Christine, who blushed and turned her head away. "Cold feet, my dear?"

Christine looked over her shoulder. "No, of course not," she assured, looking back into the mirror. "I'd just like some time to myself before the wedding." Her voice sounded forlorn, even to her.

Madame Giry placed her hands politely in her lap and nodded. "I understand." She lifted herself up off the floor and made her way towards to door. "You look lovely, child," she stressed again, grasping the brass door knob and closing the aperture smoothly behind her.

Christine let out a deep sigh as she heard the lock click. Sluggishly, she made her way over to the sofa and plopped down on it with a respectable 'oof'

So this was it…her wedding day. The moments leading up to this day were nothing but joyous. Christine couldn't wait for this day. So, then…why did she feel so empty?

Raoul's blue eyes seemed to sparkle with joy as he straightened out his black bow-tie and cleared his throat. He then swiftly exited the room and made his way down to the alter. Philippe would be waiting for him there. Philippe had rescheduled all of the family business just to attend this wonderful affair. Not only that, but he was Raoul's best man as well.

One hour to the wedding. Raoul's smile broadened. He turned into another passageway and swiftly walked down the hall. Raoul had now reached the pews in the church corridor. He could see Philippe chatting with Meg Giry. They were standing over near the pipe organ; a glass of red wine was resting in Philippe's hand.

Raoul could hear their faint discourse, something along the lines of Meg warning Philippe not to spill on the church carpet.

'…it's holy territory… to do so would be an absolute sin… this is God's house!'

Raoul laughed to himself and walked down the aisle towards them.

Oh, well imagine; as I'm pacing the pews in a church corridor,
And I can't help but to hear, no I can't help but to hear an exchanging of words:
"What a beautiful wedding!", "What a beautiful wedding!" says a bridesmaid to a waiter.
"And yes, but what a shame, what a shame, the poor groom's bride is a whore."

"So, you're a close friend of Miss Daae's? Yes, well she's a swell girl, I'm sure."

Meg nodded her assent. "Yes, Christine and I are dear friends," she replied, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her left ear. "Isn't this exciting? Your brother's getting married. I'm sure you must be proud of him."

Philippe glanced around the church. "I trust my brother and his judge of character. However," he paused, suddenly becoming a bit dark, "with the past publicity of our town's Opera House…tell me, Miss Giry, how close was Christine really to the—what was he called, some ridiculous nickname, I remember—Opera Ghost?"

Meg, unable to comprehend at first, asked, "What do you mean, Monsieur?"

"I had heard from my brother sometime back, that Christine had feelings for the tragically deformed man. I was absolutely appalled once I had read that he was a murderer and also, as Raoul's informed me, had set his heart on killing him! Out of jealousy, I heard."

Meg's face suddenly became one of absolute disgust. "What are you implying, sir? That Christine is both insane and indecisive for even considering loving a madman?" She watched as Philippe's lips curled into a satisfying smirk. Meg soon realized that she had foolishly answered his unspoken question. She produced a low growl and turned on her heel. Meg bumped into Raoul while doing so, which resulted in her fleeing to the other end of the church, where she could complain to her mother in private.

"What is wrong with Meg?" Raoul questioned.

Philippe simply shrugged. "I was simply suggesting to the Mademoiselle that perhaps Miss Daae was a little too close to your Phantom friend," Philippe swung his free arm around Raoul's shoulder. "Raoul," he preached, "perhaps this decision is too big for you. This is the wife that you are to cherish until death do you part, and you have picked her. And you know Raoul, she is only of middle-class, a mere chorus girl who you hadn't even noticed until she obtained a—may I say—fabulous solo one night."

Raoul was speechless. Suddenly, his immense shock turned into fiery rage. He jerked Philippe's arm off of him and scowled. "So, this is what you truly think of her?" He was trying his best to keep his voice down, but was failing miserably. The people on the alter shot their heads up to listen.

I'd chime in with a "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.
I'd chime in "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of...

"On our wedding day, you choose now to tell me this?"

"Well, I would have never thought that you'd go through with it." Philippe said honestly. "Really Raoul, you could do so much better—"

"Forget it, Philippe!" Raoul shouted, waving him off.

"But, Raoul!" Philippe pleaded, snatching his brother's arm, only for Raoul to rip it away and nugde him sharply in the chest. This sent Philippe off balance. He wobbled onto his feet for support to keep himself from falling, and although he might have saved his face from hitting the floor, the wine glass was not so lucky. Raoul gave him a bitter 'serves-you-right' look and then stomped off, angrily.

He didn't know why he was there, in a church…especially for that particular event. News spread quickly around Paris.

He had slipped in, unheard, and had withdrawn quickly into the shadows. He leaned against the mahogany walls, eyes silently raking over the pews. His heart was beating rapidly as he bit down onto his malformed lip. This helped to suppress a shaky breath that was threatening to escape his mouth. Still out of view, the unseen figure continued about his journey.

Suddenly the man heard a choked sob coming from a room behind him, and he stood cautiously outside the door to listen. Yes, that was her voice, he'd know it anywhere. He debated whether or not to slip into the room and watch her, but decided against it. He'd wait a couple of moments until she was thoroughly distracted.

'This is all you want, to be his wife, his love, his lifetime,' Christine thought helplessly to herself. Then why was her future so unclear in her head? Her thoughts strayed to the rooftop, that night when Raoul had confessed his undying love; the night when he had offered her a sheltered, peaceful life away from all the chaos that had been inflicted upon her. A quiet life away from her home, her Opera House. Well, it had been only six months and she had missed the Populaire dreadfully. How could Christine possibly survive the days without it? She was longing to return to it, to return to the people in it…

Him. How she tried so hard to keep her thoughts from him, and how she failed. Her own Angel of Music, the one revealed as the Opera Ghost, a madman and a monster. She knew that she could never go back to the Opera again, for the cellars would be uninhabited, unadorned and dead. The man that had been so utterly and completely in love with her was now nothing more than a frightening, yet somewhat fond memory. How his dark, sensual voice had enchanted her, lured her to his hideaway underneath the Opera. Now, Christine didn't even know whether he was still alive or not. It haunted her mind and her dreams. Every spare thought was of him. Christine could feel her skin pucker with tiny bumps of gooseflesh. If only Raoul knew how she felt… And she felt despicable because of it! Christine knew… Yes, deep down within the caverns of her mind… He still possessed her, like no other ever had. There would always be that special place in her heart…for Him.

"Not even Raoul's love," Christine confessed to herself, "not even such sweet antidote can cure this magician's clever spell, this enchantment he has cast on me..." But it would, she reassured herself, it had to. She could not live her life with such a divided soul. Christine looked at herself in the mirror again; she wiped away her tears and mentally cursed herself for ruining her make-up. Getting up and going over to the vanity, she began to repaint her face.

'No', she realized with horror, 'I promised Raoul I would never sing again. I must sacrifice my song for him. And besides, it would be too painful if I were to sing' Her heart ached wretchedly as she thought of this. Of course Christine would sacrificed it.

"Really, what is more important," Christine said aloud, "Love or Music?" Yes, Love was much more important she assured herself. But then, wasn't love and music the same thing? No…that was something the Phantom had taught her, and Christine had to think for herself.

Christine was so deep in thought she hadn't heard the door creak open. Within minutes however, she did notice a small chill coming from its crevice and simply thought the wind had blown it open. She brushed all doubts from her mind and sat back on the sofa.

"I suppose it is only right to call you Madame Changy from now on…unless you would prefer otherwise…"

Christine's breath caught in her throat. She looked up, thinking she'd heard her name. She had to be hearing things, which frightened her yet again, and resumed her state of depression.

"Christine…"

She flinched, choosing not to move. This time, Christine knew she had heard that beautiful, addicting male voice, calling her name. It was a bittersweet feeling.

Hastily, Christine replied, "A…angel?"

"How can you still call me that?" The voice moaned, hidden behind a wall hanging. Christine could feel her cheeks heat up. Her eyes then began to burn and threaten fresh tears. How foolish, she realized! She couldn't even address him by name! She let out a strangled sob. After all he had done for her! She didn't even know his name!

"No, my angel, don't cry, not on such a happy day…" Ha, what a laugh, it certainly wasn't a happy day for him! He was lying through his teeth!

Why was he even here?

Perhaps it was because he thought that he still had a chance to win her love.

But time was running out…

As if reading his mind, Christine murmured, "Why are you here? How can you stand to look at me? Why do you continue to haunt me?" She wept into her hands. "Won't you at least stand where I can see you?" She begged, tears dripping down her fingers and onto the floor.

He decided to comply and reluctantly stepped into the light. He stood before her, unmasked in body and soul. His distorted face pain-stricken and full of sadness, his love for her still there. Christine brought his hands down from her face and gasped. The man winched and instantly fled back into the darkness.

Christine wasted no time in coming to stand beside him, pulling the Phantom back into the light. "I'm sorry, Angel. I was just surprised…" Her tone showed unmistakably that she was sorry.

Their eyes never left each other's as she moved forward, twisting the new ring on her finger. "I realized," she said softly, holding back a sob, "that I never asked you your name." Her throat tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut, ashamed, a few tears sliding through under her eyelids. "I never knew your name."

He stared at her, his breath uneven and shallow. "My name?" He repeated, thrown off by her question. He looked almost defensive, protecting the one last thing he had not revealed to her. "I was not given a name," he murmured with certain coldness. "My mother did not deem me worthy."

"No!" Christine burst out. "I won't have it! Everyone has a name, and you do too!" Absent-mindly, she pulled her body to his, feeling as his stiffened from their pleasurable closeness. Christine noticed his white shirt and bare, masculine chest. She turned red and slowly laid her head on it. "Please," she cooed, her warm breath sent shivers down his spine and succeeded to make his heart stop for one brief moment, "you must have a name…"

The man felt his hand being pulled, as if attracted by some magnetic force, down towards her brown locks, where he could bury it and feel her soft hair. He drew it away quickly. He wouldn't want to mess up her veil.

"It's Erik." He said in his bravest voice.

"What a beautiful name…" She smiled, embracing his torso tightly.

Well in fact, well I'll look at it this way, I mean technically our marriage is saved. Well this calls for a toast, so pour the champagne Oh! Well in fact, well I'll look at it this way, I mean technically our marriage is saved. Well this calls for a toast, so pour the champagne, pour the champagne

"Chris…Christine…!" Erik gasped, fighting the temptation to kiss her forehead, her neck, her lips... everything.

But he was failing. Erik gave a slight shudder, swallowing hard as he did his best to quiet the demons within him. Soon the uncertainly died, and all that was left was the feeling of her wrapped around him, holding him as if he were more precious than anything in the world. He looked down and placed a trembling hand in her hair, or rather, in Christine's veil, for it was draped over her curls and prevented him from touching her.

He mentally cursed himself for weakening like this. Here Erik was, in the arms of the woman who had mercilessly crushed his heart; left him for a fop, and now was getting married to him! He shouldn't be feeling such burning emotion!

"I've missed you…Erik." Christine felt awkward with the way she had pronounced his name. It was as if she were speaking for the very first time. "So much." Slowly, Christine began to feel better, and squeezed Erik a bit more tightly.

And that melted his heart.

Andre and Firmin decided to visit Madame Giry over on the other side of the church. It seems she and Meg had known something about why Raoul wasn't exactly speaking to Philippe.

Meg crossed her arms and faced the stain glass window. The reflection of its colors danced across her flesh. "Mama, please tell these men that I do not wish to discuss it, and that it is really none of their business!"

Madame Giry eyed her, a sign to be polite, if not quiet. Meg narrowed her eyes in annoyance and remained silent.

"I must check on Christine now. I believe that she has had enough time to herself," Madame Giry inquired, cupping her hands together.

Firmin raised an eyebrow. "What for? Surely she does not have cold feet?" He stared dazedly into space for a moment before a thought struck him. "Andre, maybe…maybe she's having second thoughts about—"

Andre hit his palm to his brow, "Of course!" he agreed, "Maybe the realization has finally hit her! The realization that Miss Daae's Phantom is no longer there to compete for her!" He smirked, "Two men fighting for that girl! How ever did she choose?"

"Perhaps it is because one of them was daffy!"

"Then I'd seriously consider Miss Daae's own sanity as well! Thank God she chose the Victome!" Andre laughed, Firmin soon joining in.

Again...

Madame Giry found herself smacking them both heatedly across the cheeks. The two automatically went mute and fell into a shock. "How dare you!" She seethed, "Talking about such an innocent child like that! And on her wedding day, no less!" Her gaze sent venom straight through their bodies. "You should be ashamed! Miss Daae is like one of my own. Anything bad said about her is only a harsh insult to me!"

"We're…we're sorry Madame…" They apologized, rubbing their sore spots, soothingly.

"You should be!"

"Christine, please don't do this to me!" Erik pleaded. Christine's eyes fluttered open as she titled her head up to look at him. "You're getting married…"

She nodded slowly, "I know."

Silence.

Erik sighed. He knew what filled that silence: their past. It was all of the hurt and betrayal and pain that had denied their love its future. It threatened to destroy him if something was not done soon.

"No," he said quietly. Bringing Christine to him once more, he slid his arms around her, returning her gesture of affection. The seconds ticked by and then he proceeded to remove her veil, and tossed it lightly to the floor. At long last, Erik buried his hands in her hair and pressed his deformed lips to her forehead. He listened as Christine gasped out in surprise.

Within Erik, reason raged. 'You absolute fool! Why offer you're soul again only to have it rejected? Haven't you learned? You barely have a soul left to give!' But Erik pushed all thought out of his mind and lifted Christine's chin up with his thumb and forefinger. He moved his mouth down to her lips, kissing them with all the passion he possessed, cradling her face in his hands, his long fingers brushing gently against her locks. When she had held him, whispered how much she missed him, how happy she was to see him, his resolve to stay far away from her embrace had entirely vanished. If someone were to walk in on them in that moment, to see him kissing the bride to be, he wouldn't have cared. ...He was kissing his love.

Erik ran his tongue gently along her lips, which were now red from his kisses. Christine couldn't help but to open her mouth and moan with pleasure, which gave Erik the perfect opportunity to enter her. She swung her arms lovingly around his neck, leaning into him, Christine's body now intimately on top of his. Erik backed up against the wall. Christine's response only served to heighten his passion, gasping at the sensation of how soft she was against his now obvious arousal.

"Christine," he whispered between desperate, fevered kisses, "I…should…go..." Their lips parted and he drew away stubbornly. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Christine bit her lip, overwhelmed with disappointment. "Erik…" He voice was sad and disappointed.

He grasped her hands in his, "Come with me, Christine. We can live together, away from Paris!" His eyes showed signs of hope and Christine felt her heart flutter but then, all too quickly, sink inside her chest.

She looked down at their hands. "Oh, Erik…I can't do that to Raoul. I still love him."

Erik gawked and released her hands coldly.

"No! No, don't take it like that! Erik, do you really want all that publicity to start up again?"

"Why do you care? We have each other, isn't that enough?" Erik spat, watching as Christine's bottom lip began to quiver.

"If only it were that simple! But I just can't forget the past! You're a murderer, Erik! What if one day, you get angry with me and loose your temper and…"

"I would never hurt you, Christine…" Erik saw the fear in her wide, brown orbs and felt horrible. He gazed upon Christine and watched as she became that lost, confused child that he had known for all those many years, and his presence was making her that way.

"I will go, Christine, and you will never have to hear from me again." He said sadly.

"Don't do that!" she shrieked, resuming her embrace. "At least write to me, tell me that you're thinking of me, that you have nothing but fond memories of me!" She gripped him fiercly, "Please, Erik!"

Erik stared down at her. "Of course, my angel. Anything for the bride." And Erik planted one last kiss into her hair.

Madame Giry opened the door and walked in. She looked at Christine oddly, noticing that her lip-stick was smudged and her veil on the floor. "What exactly have you been doing in here? You know its bad luck for the groom to see you in your wedding dress before the wedding!" She joked.

Christine turned white but let out a strained laugh as Madame Giry fixed her up.

"So, are you ready to get married?" She asked, combing tangles out, placing the veil back on and reaching for the make-up box.

Christine gave her a small smile.

I'd chime in "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.
I'd chime in "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.

Again...

A/N: Okay, so it probably stunk but it was my fist PotO one-shot song-fic, so please be nice! I didn't edit, and even if I did, I'm not very good at it, so forgive me for any mistakes.

uggh...Christine really is a moron, isn't she? My own story has gotten me depressed!

Please review!

Christine