Gaston Leroux, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, 1911.
Christine was in despair and almost ready to abandon her dreams of
becoming a great singer,
and then she heard the voice of her Angel of Music....
His own heart breaking because of his hopeless love for Christine,
Erik too, was visited by an
angel....
As Christine gazed at him, bewitched by his song, her Angel of Music
raised one elegant hand and
took off his black fedora hat, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Eyes
still locked with hers, he removed
his cloak with one swift, graceful movement; it spread in soft folds
across the back of the chair.
Christine could not take her eyes from the tall, fascinating man, whose
powerful aura of mystery and
allure was further enhanced by the fact that his face was covered by
a white mask. Her breathless
awareness of such seductive mystique made her blood race in a way she
had never before
experienced.
He raised his hands to stroke back his sleek dark hair, and then, spreading
his long, strong fingers
wide, moved his hands slowly down the jacket of his dress suit.
The young singer watched, utterly mesmerised, as his hands carried on
their deliberate, sensual glide
down the lean length of his body, ending on his inner thighs. For a
fleeting moment, she wondered
how those beautiful hands would feel on her own bare skin, and a shaft
of ice ran down her spine,
causing her to shiver involuntarily.
The Phantom saw her tremble, and spoke for the first time since they
had entered his lair; his voice
washed over her like a warm, soothing tide. Her eyes closed as she
savoured the sensation; she
sensed his silent movement as he came to stand behind her.
"Listen, my child. Hear my music - it is the music of the night. Feel
it all around you. Don't be afraid,
my little one. Trust me - believe in your Angel of Music." Christine
leaned back against him, and his
arm came up to cradle her head. And he began to sing..........
**************
Christine was lost in the wonder of his voice - that extraordinary voice
which filled her mind, her
heart and her very soul with enchanting sound. Truly, the voice of
an angel, so appealing, so radiant,
so utterly beguiling. She was floating on the softest of clouds; her
body felt featherlight. The Phantom
picked her up in his arms and all the while, his voice rocked her to
sleep.
Carrying his precious burden, the Phantom trod softly over to the bedroom
he had prepared for his
young pupil of song, and carefully laid her down on the pretty little
bed. Covering her with the light,
goosedown quilt, he arranged the pillows under her head. He straightened,
and for a long moment,
looked down at the sleeping form of his Angel of Music.
Her long, thick curling hair cascaded around her shoulders, a shining
dark cloud against the
snowy-white pillow, and one lace-clad arm lay over the coverlet. His
heart ached with love for her,
while his body yearned for her touch. He lifted her arm and, gently
turning over her hand, kissed her
palm. The feel of her soft skin under his lips was more than he could
bear as a swift, hot hunger
flooded his veins.
How he longed to hold her close, to see her blue eyes soften with desire.
To caress her satin skin,
kiss her rosy mouth. To feel her slender arms around him, hear her
whisper endearments against his
face. But, oh Lord, she did not know that face was grotesque........
**************
He must leave her - now - before his treacherous body betrayed him.
Closing the bedroom door
quietly behind him, he flung on his cloak and hat and left the house
to pace the lakeside. His mind
was in turmoil as he strode up and down, hands clenched by his side.
That beautiful, innocent and
trusting child who lay sleeping in his house was quite literally at
his mercy.
He loved her far too much to ever hurt her, but his blood was surging
at the thought of her exquisite
body. The Phantom fell to his knees and put his hands over his ears
as if to block out the sound of
his own mind. He felt as though he were on fire and that the flames
would consume him.
Finally, in an effort to cool his fevered brain and burning blood, he
stripped off his clothes, the mask
and wig, and plunged into the chill waters of the lake. He swam rapidly
to the other side, and then
dived under the water, down and down into its dark depths, and on further
down until there was no
air remaining in his lungs.
The Phantom swam up to the surface and burst through the water, gasping
in great quantities of air.
His heart was racing in his breast as he shook the water from his eyes
and ears. Turning onto his
back, he lay floating until his heart had calmed and his breathing
returned to normality.
He closed his eyes and for the first time in many, many years, whispered a prayer.
***************
The Phantom of the Opera, the being who caused fear and panic-stricken
dread of the supernatural
throughout the Opéra House, who possessed quite amazing powers
and was frightened of nothing or
nobody, was suddenly startled out of his wits by the sound of a cheerful
little voice directly above his
head. His eyes snapped open, and he almost went under the water again
with the shock of what he
saw. Choking and spluttering, he managed to gulp, "Wh--wh--what are
you?".
A diminutive creature, no bigger than a small child, was hovering above
him. It had the sweetest face
- the face of a little cherub. A mop of flaxen curls grew in wild abandon
on the vision's head, and a
pair of bright blue eyes sparkled down at Erik.
Staring, Erik saw that the little creature was dressed in a long, white
robe, from under which peeped
dainty, childish feet. A small golden harp was clutched under one arm,
and most fantastically, to
Erik's open-mouthed stupefaction, a pair of tiny golden wings were
gently beating and holding the
cherub aloft.
"Hello, M'sieur Erik", cried the vision, the piping little voice echoing
around the cavernous cellar. "I
have been sent from le bon Dieu, who has heard your plea for guidance.
We do so want to help
you, but first, M'sieur, will you not get out of that dreadfully cold
water? I would not want you to
succumb to a horrid infection."
Erik could not believe his ears or eyes, but he obeyed with some alacrity;
although he was
accustomed to the cold and damp of the underground cellars, it soon
became apparent to him that
he was getting thoroughly chilled. Turning over, he swam hastily to
the shore of the lake. He pulled
himself out and stood, dripping wet, as he reached for his clothes.
The cherub had followed him and the Phantom suddenly gasped as he realised
he was completely
naked. Quickly wrapping his warm cashmere cloak around his tall frame,
he looked up at the
hovering vision, to see that the eyes were brimful of merriment.
"Do not mind me, M'sieur Erik", was the blithe response to his discomposure.
"Where I come from,
the body in its natural state is an everyday sight."
Erik, stunned into silence, did not say a word, but continued to gaze
in wide-eyed wonder at the little
creature, completely forgetting that he was unmasked. He knew instinctively,
however, that he had
nothing to fear from the childish being.
In other circumstances he would have felled an intruder with one blow,
or frightened someone
completely witless with one burning glance from the brilliant dark
eyes behind the mask.
Such uninvited guests would then have been slung over César's
back and taken above, to be
dumped unceremoniously under one of the bridges along the River Seine,
and left to sleep off their
nightmares of a spectre with eyes that shot red fire.
There had never been anyone foolish enough to venture down this far,
even under the mind-numbing
influence of drink, to disturb his kingdom. The opera folk were far
too scared, and Erik made sure
that they had plenty of silent warnings to keep away. He would appear
and disappear around the
Opéra, giving them sight of a shadowy figure, and sometimes
a glimpse of his skull-like features for
good measure.
He guarded his realm with science and magic, and with ethereally chilling
authority. Until now,
nothing had disturbed the peace of his house upon the lake.
************
Here, however, was a little intruder! Erik had never seen anything like
this little wingèd creature
except, of course, in books and paintings. He was still feeling thoroughly
bewildered when the little
vision spoke once again.
"Now, M'sieur, I think you should dry yourself very thoroughly and dress
in something warm. And
then, a hot drink, with perhaps a little cognac to ward off any possible
fevers. Shall we go into your
house?"
************
Go to Part 2 of Dream of Angels
by Erika Shadow.