The Prisoner (A Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction)

Note: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, or it's characters. Also, moderate cursing will be used.
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"Renée, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"How did it happen?"

"He died in his sleep, mostly likely because of a heart failure. He went peacefully, my dear."

"..."
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Renée's POV:

He couldn't be dead. He was the only thing left. What would happen to me now? First my mother, now my father. I could feel the tears in my eyes. It would be no good to let Madame Meg see me cry.

I left.

I walked aimlessly around the Opera Populaire for what seemed like hours. For some reason, I found myself traveling further and further underground. I knew I shouldn't, that's where Meg says the Opera Ghost lives. Apparently she saw him for a moment, and she found his mask after his escape.

I remember Mme. Meg telling us about seeing that performance from backstage. Everyone in the cast was sick with fear. Even if the Opera Ghost had not written it, it was a very uncomfortable production. The ballet girls where essentially sluts. She told us about watching the performance between Christine and who they had thought was Piangi. She was breathtaking, and so was he, but in a very different way.

Eventually I came by a lake, far below the stage. The sight of water reminded me just how thirsty I was. Unluckily, by this time I had no clue how to return to the ballerina's quarters.

I sat by the lake and cried. My father had been the only person to care about me in my life, except for Christopher, whom I personally would be fine without, and Mme. Meg, who cared about all the ballet girls in the same way.

Essentially, I was alone. I had no one. I was unwanted and unloved.

I kneeled by that lake and drank. I spit it out almost as soon as it had touched my lips. It tasted like old meat and machine oil.

My spit covered the sound of boots on gravel.

Next thing I know there's a rope around my neck.
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The Phantom's POV:

The show was splendid. I sat in my usual place in Box 5. But there was certainly a twang in my heart when the new Prima Donna sang her first aria. That was supposed to be Christine's place.

'She left you for the Vicomte' a voice in my head said. I brushed it aside and turned the corner to the lake. My heart stopped when I saw a girl sitting on the shore. She was only5 feet from the boat... Those damn ballet brats!!! One had not come seeking him in years, not after what had happened. I brought a Punjab lasso from under my cloak and made sure to silence my steps. I flicked my wrist and caught the girl around the neck.

"WHY DID YOU FOLLOW ME TO THIS PLACE?!?!?!"

The girl sputtered, and I tightened the rope slightly.

"ANSWER ME."

"Ple-Please... I wasn't" she said through a strained voice.

My heart softened slightly. The girl had been crying. And now she was afraid. Very vulnerable. Good.

"Why where you down here then, hm?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Please, I... I got lost." Her fingers were trying to find a way between the rope and her neck.

She had large, emerald-green eyes. Her hair was brown and curled. She reminded me very much of Christine...

A whimper from the girl snapped ne back into reality. Her face was turning purple. I had been tightening the rope without realizing it. I was slowly cutting off her air ways.

'You can't kill her!' I yelled to myself inside my head, 'She's an innocent, in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

'A ballet brat is nothing more. She will leave here and disclose my location!' I countered to myself.

'And have another's blood on your hands?'

'She has seen too much.'

'Take her captive. Make her beg you to free her.'

I can be quite rational when I want to.

She was clawing at the rope viscously, trying to loosen it's grip on her. I completely let go of the rope. She rolled over onto her stomach, breathing heavily and coughing. I used the time she was unaware to pour some chloroform onto my glove. I clasped my hand around her face, covering her mouth and nose. She fought me for a mere moment, then went limp in my hands. As she faded off, she had faced me, and I saw those emerald eyes alive with fear.

"Oh, my dear, there are much scarier things than a little chloroform."