The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

Lesson One: Christine

December 23rd

Three hours until my scheduled rendezvous with him. Erik. So strange it was to call him by that name, that it made him seem like a stranger.

If only I could pretend that he was one! Erik Dessler, my new tutor, a genius composer with a voice so powerful that it could make the statues tremble.

Yet such pretense was impossible, for even if he had come to me as he originally planned, pretending to be Mr. Dessler, I would still recognize the voice of my Angel of Music.

As ambivalent as I felt about his arrival (He will take my mind off Raoul —  but he is the Phantom!), I decided to be a good host and go down into the kitchen to find some biscuits I could take to the music room.

However, I barely started descending the staircase, when I heard noise coming from the first floor. By some instinct, I stopped myself from calling out. It must have been Erik, sneaking in earlier despite our agreement. Disappointment washed over me. I made a mistake after all — the Phantom could not be trusted.

I returned upstairs and leaned across the railing, keeping quiet and hoping I'll be able to observe him and see what his intentions are.

The moments passed, my grip on the railing tightening with each tick and tock. At first there was nothing but silence, and then a caped, hooded figure hurried across the foyer and disappeared once again where I couldn't see him. This was useless!

I rushed down. The emptiness of the house weighed down on me, but I had to press on.

All the doors were shut, and with a heavy hand I opened one after another, but the Phantom was nowhere in sight.

The last room was a small salon where visitors would be left to wait. I entered, and saw it then: drawings. So many drawings of me, and they were scattered across tea tables, chairs and the floor. It looked like a scene from a nightmare.

And I knew the author, for I've glimpsed these same drawings once before — in the lair beneath the Paris opera. The portraits reeked of obsession and woke memories that ached: the thoughts of everything that burned, and of everything I left behind.

Why was he doing this to me? Being civil and then playing games with my mind, doubtlessly with the goal of manipulating me and pushing me into being his bride.

Perhaps I was being punished for being selfish and rejecting Raoul, and now my fate was to suffer a lifetime with this monster.

With an unpleasant shiver, I collected all the drawings, then went and shoved them into a drawer in the music room. I will confront him, and if there will be no other way, I will run.

One way or another, I will break free from my puppet strings forever, and somehow find a place that can shelter me.

Just to feel a little bit safer, I went upstairs to pack one bag for emergency travel. Two more hours until our rendezvous, and a thousand possibilities that sickened me.