Chapter 1

It Frightens Me

I stood at the bottom of the staircase, gazing up at the sight that I could not tear my eyes away from. Red Death descended slowly, methodically, and powerfully. I quaked in fear, though no one saw me, for all eyes were upon that terrifying sight before me. My teacher's eyes were angry. The green orbs were hidden in the shadow of his horrible death mask and smoldered with an emotion I had seen only once before, in the moment I tore the mask from his face. He thrust the copy of his infamous opera in the direction of the managers. I stood as still as a statue. He knows, I thought in horror, repeating it over and over. His gaze finally drifted back to mine and I could not look away. Once his eyes locked onto mine, I was his again and there was nothing I could do.

In that moment when I realized there was nothing I could do, he began to descend the stairs toward my trembling form. I knew my punishment awaited me, for I had betrayed my angel and my teacher. I was so frightened. All in one day I had been reunited with my childhood friend, now a handsome young man, and I had met my angel in the flesh, a sight which I had never expected. At times, there was such sadness in his eyes and so much love that it scared me. I had torn the mask from his face out of my foolish curiosity. I had run from a man who loved me and found solace in the safe arms of my childhood friend, hoping to hide from the awakened emotions in my heart. Now, there was reconciliation in his words. Perhaps my teacher was willing to take me under his wing once again. My eyes filled with hope as he neared me. Perhaps all was not lost.

The Phantom's gaze swept down from my face and lay on the forgotten trinket that lay on a chain around my neck. Fear suddenly coursed through my body as I realized that he seen the symbol of Raoul's pledge. Anger replaced any tenderness that was in his eyes only a moment ago. He snatched the ring away, tearing the chain from my neck. I gasped, but not from the pain, instead from the wretchedness I now felt.

"Your chains belong to me!" he roared.

I trembled before him, my lips unable to form any words of apology or a plea of mercy. In an instant, he was gone. All that remained was a dissipating cloud of smoke that cloaked his departure. Raoul had run after him, wherever he had disappeared to, and I was left alone. Terrified, I ran blindly from the grand foyer and stumbled down the nearest corridor until I reached the deserted wing where my dressing room lay. Weaving my way to and fro in the darkened hallways, I finally found my dressing room and grasped the door handle with a shaking, pale hand. My hand suddenly stopped its frantic movement. I could not go in there. I could not bear to see the mirror looming before me like judgment day, the book of my life laying bare all of my sins. A sob fled my mouth and I clamped my hand over it as my body slumped against the wall. It was cold and dark in the hall, but the hiding place was a sort of comfort to me. I could hear the frantic beating of my heart now.

Finally, I decided to flee to the only room which seemed safe at the moment. As I raised my hand to that door, I was not sure if she would even be present to admit me. After a moment, the door creaked open and Madame Giry peered out first in suspicion and then in concern.

"Christine," she called out, clutching my arm as she drew me inside and shut her door.

"I do not know what to do," I cried out. "He is so angry."

"Come, child," she called, "let us remove this cumbersome costume."

I allowed her to lead me further into the room and nimbly remove the elaborate pink gown. She glanced up at me periodically, her wary eyes studying the stricken expression on my face. When I finally stood in only my thin chemise, shivering uncontrollably in the chill air, Madame Giry swept a warm nightgown over my body.

"You may stay here tonight, if you wish," she told me, her normally strict tone reduced to a gentle murmur.

I nodded absentmindedly and felt myself being led to a waiting bed. Once beneath the heavy blankets, it did not take long before my tired mind began to shut down, and my eyes fell closed. I awoke only once during the night to the sound of Madame Giry's voice, in the adjoining sitting room, speaking in a low murmur. So fatigued was I, that I did not consider who she was talking to. The bed was too warm and the blankets too soft and I could not resist the pull of sleep.

The next morning brought with it muted winter sunlight that streamed through the small windows of the bedroom and fell across the embroidered bedspread that covered my sleeping form. I glanced around the small bedroom with no sight of Madame Giry anywhere. Carefully, I rose from bed and slipped from the room into the sitting room beyond. The chairs situated around the small fireplace were unoccupied. It appeared as though she were gone. I took the opportunity to warm myself beside the small fire. My hands shook as I held them out and I wondered to myself if it was merely due to the chill in the room. My discarded dress was hung on one side of the room. A shudder ran through me as I recounted the night before. I did not want to be reminded of all that had transpired. I suddenly longed for a benevolent comfort – one in which I felt safe and protected. I could not bear to see Raoul this morning. My mind was still awash of the events from last night. I could not think clearly and I could not decide what I had to do.

I had to see my father.

I slipped on a robe from Madame Giry's wardrobe and weaved my way through the girls' dormitories before finding the small room that I shared with Meg. Inside, I quickly chose a simple dark gown from my measly wardrobe and dressed swiftly. I tied my hair back and attached a bonnet, before shrugging a winter cloak over my shoulders, fastened it at the neck and finished with a warm pair of gloves. A brief pause in front of the tiny mirror above the wash basin revealed a face filled with worry and despair. Dark shadows lay below my eyes, and did nothing but perpetuate the horrid feeling that refused to leave my mind.

I hurried from my room and found the opera house's stables in a matter of minutes. There was a carriage already horsed and ready. I begged the driver to take me to the cemetery and he silently complied with a nod of his hooded head. The air was undoubtedly cold and the threat of snow hung in the air like a death shroud. I slipped into the carriage bundled my cloak around myself carefully to keep out the cold. A chill still seemed to permeate my body that even the heavy cloak and gown could not keep out. After nearly an hour, I arrived at the gates of the cemetery that I had not visited in several months. I wearily slipped from the carriage and moved towards the gates, pushing them open with my gloved hands. They squeaked strangely in the stillness of the morning air, the only sound beside my feet crunching on the blanket of snow.

I entered the strange graveyard, in awe again of the large monuments to the dead that trailed off into the distance as far as the eye could see. My feet found their familiar path and led me to the inevitable destination tucked away deep within the cemetery. The crypt, erected by wealthy admirers of my father's music, loomed before me. I stood there for several minutes, as still as one of the stone angels within the grounds. My breath rose up in the cold air, shallow and uneven.

"Father," I whispered in the silence, "I am so confused. I do not know what course you intended for me. I cannot see its destination and it frightens me. I am so frightened, father," I wept.

I looked up at the tomb again. "I wish you were here again, that I could hear your voice again. I wish you could guide me and comfort me. I feel so. . .alone. You told me once of an angel and I truly believed you. The angel of music came to me and taught me. He watched over me and protected me. But now, I realize that everything I believed in was an illusion. There was no angel. I was a foolish girl. Once again, I am alone and there is no one to watch over me. I wish you were here with me and that I could feel your arms around me again. Oh papa, I felt so safe in your arms! And now. . .now, I am so afraid. My life is not my own anymore. He said. . ." my voice faltered as bitter tears fell from my eyes, "he said that I belong to him now. There is no escape. I don't know what to do, papa. He is everywhere – in my voice, in my mind, and in every place. I fear that I will never see the sunlight again – that I will be locked away forever and everyone who cares for me will be shut away. Father, I am so afraid! I do not want to be taken away."

I glanced around warily, even though the graveyard appeared to be deserted and added in a hushed whisper. "I would rather die here in your presence. You would take care of me. You would guide me up to heaven."

My knees shook and I found myself falling to the ground. I could feel the cold in the air more intensely now. My limbs were wracked with icy chills and my body shivered uncontrollably. Perhaps my father had heard my wish. Perhaps he was coming to me right now. A small smile lifted my pale, shaking lips. "I am not afraid with you here, papa," I whimpered as my head slumped against the ground. "But I am so cold. Will I ever be warm again?"

I was delirious. I thought I saw an angel slip from the gravestones and glide towards me. Then I realized that it was no angel. The figure was cloaked in black and very real. I could not summon the strength to lift even one limb from the frozen ground. My body was beginning to shut down and I was welcoming it. I heard the most heavenly sound in the world and called out for my father, but he did not answer. The figure loomed above me, dropping down and gathering me up in its arms.

"Christine," I heard his voice cry out. A cold, gloved hand touched my frozen face and I winced from the sensation. Even the smallest touch was painful.

"No," I whimpered, "my father is coming for me. Let me go."

I felt my body being lifted from the ground and I tried to protest, but the most I could do was cry. How pitiful I must have looked at that moment, but I didn't care. I was so close to seeing my father again and so afraid of being torn away from everything I knew.

"Let me go," I cried out again. I struggled and tried to beat at his chest with my fists, my broken sobs echoing throughout the cemetery. "Please! I don't want to be shut away. Please don't shut me away. I cannot bear the darkness!"

He froze in his tracks, looking down at me for a moment in silence. The angry gleam in his eyes that I had seen only the night before was gone. There was an unbearable grief mirrored in his eyes – the very grief that must have been etched upon my features. "Let me die," I cried. "Father said I was supposed to be with the angel."

I did not remember anything after that. The world faded and I thought that death had finally come to claim me, and bring me to a home that I had waited a long time for.

"Christine," a gentle, female voice called out beyond the darkness.

I resisted the call, but it repeatedly prompted me to respond. I surfaced from the abyss and found myself back in a warm bed. I was covered in thick quilts and someone was attending me. My limbs ached horribly, and my body was stilled wracked with shivers. I was barely able to grip the edge of the blankets with my hands.

"Where am I?" I murmured.

Madame Giry bent over my prone form with a worried expression on her elegant features. I could hear shuffling behind her and realized that an older man was rummaging through a black bag nearby.

"Keep her warm," I heard him say. "The cold did her no good. I will leave some laudanum with you, but you must keep a careful eye on her. If her condition worsens, fetch me immediately."

"Thank you, doctor," Madame Giry murmured.

My mind was swimming with the effects of the fever. I was not even aware when the doctor had left. I do remember being carefully pulled into a sitting position, and a warm broth fed to me. A hand gentle stroked my forehead and lingered on my cheeks.

"It is a good thing you brought her here. I cannot imagine what would have happened had you not found her," I heard her say, a slight edge in her voice.

Only silence responded.

"Do you know how frightened she was after that night? What on earth have you done?" she continued.

"I could not let her go," a very familiar and masculine voice responded. "That boy was going to take her away. I could not allow that."

"She is not yours to keep. You cannot cage her like you would a bird. She would die."

My mind began to drift away again and I remembered no more of the conversation. Fevered dreams were filled with the night of the party. No matter how I tried to resist, I could not avoid him as he descended the stairs, over and over again. My feet were rooted to the floor and there was no chance of running away. Each time he tore the chain from my neck, I could feel the bite of the metal in my skin, and a scream would issue from my mouth. There were scattered memories of waking from my nightmares to Madame Giry's gentle ministrations and soothing voice. I would weep bitterly though I was hardly aware of it.

Two days later, the fever was breaking. My body was on fire and I writhed around in the sweat-soaked sheets of my bed. My leg curled around the sheets, exposed to the cooler air of the room. I thrust the sheets from my body and nearly tumbled out of bed, but quickly regained my balance as I placed both feet firmly on the floor. It took several moments to gather the strength to lift my body from the bed and walk shakily across the floor to the door. I was in Madame Giry's room, I realized. My pale fingers curled around the open door and pulled it open fully to reveal an empty sitting room. Madame Giry must have stepped out. I walked slowly and clumsily towards the nearest chair, feeling the relief of cool air rushing through my damp nightgown. I slumped into the chair and heaved a sigh of relief. For several silent moments I lay there, my body sprawled in the comfortable chair, as the cool air nipped at my burning skin.

A soft shuffle awoke me from my rest. My eyes snapped open and I looked around the room deliriously.

"Who's there?" I called out in a hoarse voice.

When no one responded, I rose quickly from my chair and moved behind it, gripping the wings of the armchair with my hands. Perhaps I was dreaming again. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me. I heard another shuffle behind me and gasped when a hand touched my shoulder. Whirling around, and nearly making myself faint in the process, I found my strange angel standing before me. He seemed even taller now or perhaps that was my skewed perception because of the illness. He was dressed in black, clothing as immaculate and formal as ever. However, something was different. The cravat that he usually wore about his neck was gone, and the shirt beneath was unbuttoned at the collar. He almost looked tired, but of course, he would never reveal any sort of weakness to me. My mind swirled with emotion and with the nightmares and memories of the past few nights. A sudden urge to run took hold of my body, and I stumbled away from him, nearly tripping on my nightgown. I was like a cornered mouse; there was nowhere to run. He began to move towards me, backing me further into the corner of the room opposite the door. My hands shot out, grazing the walls as I tried to balance myself and think of a way to evade him. My eyes looked past him and at the door. I had no other choice.

I quickly rushed around him, intending to make it to the door before he could catch me. Sickness had weakened my body considerably, and as soon as I rounded him, I felt his arms wrap around my waist and pull me back from my escape. I cried out in futility, thrashing my limbs, but he would not let go. A wretched sob escaped my dry lips and I began to sink down to the floor. But he quickly lifted me up into his arms, cradling me for a moment, and walked me slowly to the small couch that lay before the fireplace. As my head found purchase against the soft pillows of the couch, he lifted a hand to my face. I tried to pull away, fear filling my senses, for I did not know his intentions.

"Hush," he said gently as he smoothed my hair back, "You are safe."

I watched him closely as he hovered over me, my breathing rapid and yet controlled for the moment. A slight frown tugged at his full lips as he regarded me. I must be a sight, I thought weakly. My long, dark curls were disheveled to say the least and my brow was beaded with sweat. The thin nightgown was. . .oh god, I thought, I am only wearing a nightgown! I looked down and could see my chest rising and falling beneath the modest, lace nightgown. The fabric clung to my sweat-soaked skin, revealing too much of my shape for a gentleman to see. He must have known what I was thinking, because as I glanced up from my self-examination, I met his emerald eyes. There was a moment of hesitation in them, and I could see him slowly pulling his hand away from the arm I had not realized he was clutching so fervently. I shifted slightly, trying to draw the hem of my nightgown down discreetly. I fell back against the pillows and let my arm drop weakly off the couch.

He rose quickly, moving out of my line of sight and seemed to be attending to something in another room. Finally, he returned and once again resumed his position by my side. I jumped as I saw the shadow of his arm fall across my face.

"Do not be afraid," I heard him murmur.

His hand drew a cool cloth across my brow, dabbing gently for a minute before re-soaking the cloth in a bowl of cold water at his feet. My lips parted and my breathing slowed. The cloth moved across my forehead again and stopped before brushing down the side of my face. Involuntarily, my face turned into the cool cloth and I sighed with relief at my dying fever.

"Is there any water?" I asked weakly, trying to wet my parched lips.

He turned silently and retrieved a small glass, bringing it slowly to my eager lips. I drank the contents of the glass quickly before he pulled it away. His eyes lingered for a moment on the spot where the glass had just touched. I could see my angel's head tilt ever so slightly before his hand cupped the side of my face and his thumb boldly brushed across my parted lips, removing the trickle of water that had escaped. My heart began to beat mercilessly as his hand lingered there. His eyes were narrowed, deep in thought as he ran his thumb repeatedly over my moistened lips.

My body flushed with heat and I squirmed. "The cloth," I muttered, almost incoherently. He lifted the cloth from the basin and resumed the cooling of my forehead, but I was still not content. My hand lazily found the cloth at my brow, with his hand still clutching it, and moved it down my face and to the side of my neck. I moaned softly, reveling in the feeling of the cold cloth on my fevered skin. He stopped for a moment, his hand almost retreating, when my eyes moved upon his. I could see a strange emotion there – it almost made me afraid, but in my state, I paid no heed.

"Please," I cried, "the heat is unbearable."

He resumed the gentle stroking at my neck. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the gentle caresses across my skin. He moved the cloth across my neck and attended the other side, pausing briefly when I moaned in relief. My chest slowly rose and fell beneath the thin nightgown, and my heart hammered for a reason I could not think of in my delirious state. The cloth moved down my neck and stroked the delicate flesh that met my shoulder. I thought I would die in that moment. My body shook with a strange feeling. I had been so afraid of him, and I still was, but now I could not bear to be parted from his touch. The cloth moved across my collarbone and I shuddered. My eyes flew open and I realized that he had been singing to me. My mind began to rise to the surface again and I glanced at him with widened eyes. The cloth abruptly stopped its movements and we locked eyes. His eyes seemed to burn, just like that horrible night that seemed ages ago, but now there was no hate in those green orbs. They smoldered with a fire that I had never witnessed before and made me shiver in fear and melt in a desire I had never known.

There was a rustling at the door. My angel leaped to his feet and quickly threw a nearby blanket across my shaking body, modestly covering the thin barrier. He moved away from me quickly and a part of me cried out for him. Madame Giry entered the room, her arms full of supplies. Her eyes narrowed when she saw who had been attending me. He moved quickly to leave and threw on the jacket that I had not even realized was removed. He nearly knocked over the basin of water in his haste.

"Thank you, angel," I cried out.

He paused briefly at the door, barely turning his head, and his angelic voice responded with a name I will never forget. "Erik. My name is Erik."

He was gone before I could respond.