A Phantom Christmas Carol - *Phantom of the Opera*

Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you for the vote. :) Lyrics belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Charles Hart... video story for this chapter is attached. Keep in mind, it is not an exact duplicate of written story. For one thing, it has some of Christine's POV in it as well, and a few other things have been changed around a bit, to fit for video. Asterisks are thoughts not spoken. (Music is from Phantasia {a PotO instrumental}, "Devil's Advocate" by Immediate Music, and Sleepy Hollow.

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Why Can't the Past Just Die?

II

Engrossed in his masterpiece, the Phantom lost all sense of time and place as he transferred the series of notes from the organ keys to parchment.

"I remember there was mist, swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake...there were candles all around, and on the lake there was a boat...and in the boat there was a...man..."

Christine's words, soft and wondering, brought him from the thick cloud of his own music. Startled to hear the clear, sweet purity of her voice, he glanced over his shoulder to see her standing at the entrance of the bedchamber.

Her persona captivated him, the glow of her beauty ethereal. Speechless, he looked away, returning to his handiwork, all the while listening to her hushed, confused song of query with regard to her presence there.

"Who was that shape in the shadows ... whose is the face in the mask?"

How could he answer her childlike queries? How could he tell her the face that lay behind the mask composed the worst of nightmares? To do so would shatter all girlhood illusions and reveal not the Angel she had so often beckoned to join her, but a monster from whom she would run...

At the tender and unexpected touch of her warm fingers against his jaw, his breath caught in his throat. His heart thundered in shock and need as she stroked his skin, and he closed his eyes, the pleasure of her willing touch beyond his conception to believe.

The sudden rush of cold air against his damaged skin horrified him. No...!

He pushed her away, slapping his hand to his accursed face and shot to his feet. She fell at the foot of the candlesticks, her upraised face now twisted into a mask of shocked dismay - and horror.

"DAMN YOU!" he cried out in misery, "you little prying Pandora—you little demon..." He whisked the cloth from the mirror and tore his hand from his face to stare at the repulsive sight. "Is THIS what you wanted to see?!"

Once more slapping his hand over the gross defect, he struck out blindly with his arm, knocking a candlestick into the water.

"CURSE YOU! You little lying Delilah—you little viper!" He leaned toward her and she cowered back against the candles. "Now you cannot ever be free...!"

He stormed down the steps, his anger subsiding as anguish rose from the depths of his soul to rip bloody furrows across his heart.

"Damn you ... curse you ..."

He wanted to weep and barely refrained from falling to his knees in despair. All of his plans, years in the making, all that he desired for their future together - gone in one lost moment of unguarded hope, with one touch of her hand upon his face ...

He stared hard at the portcullis, his chest heaving from his rant. His bleeding heart defied his cutting logic, and he wished he could retrieve his hideous words, wished he had not lashed out at her so violently...