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

The Piano

I faced her not far from the attic, the heart of my new home.

"Who sent thee?" I growled at her, my sword trained at her. "What kind of apparition are you, coming to torment me?"

She smiled, unafraid.

"I come to meet you at last, my Angel of Music."

"You have no right to call me that."

Now I knew it was an apparition, a mockery of my relationship with Christine, and I swung my sword at the creature. In a moment too blurry for me to comprehend it, the woman sidestepped my attack and grabbed my hand with a touch that burned, making me drop my sword.

"What are you?" I asked.

"Someone who listened to you while you were sitting at that piano, playing sweet tunes that have fed me for months. You yourself have lured me here, and now you object?"

"I had no intention of luring anyone here. Quite on contrary! Now what do you want?"

She stood before me, relaxed, her dark eyes glinting, and she smiled a wicked smile that seemed to distort her mask. It must have been an illusion.

"Leave, apparition! Vanish, foul demon!" I shouted, and her half-face mocked me still, curved into a surreal smile.

"A demon? Perhaps. I will stay, however. I won't harm you. Truce?"

She took my hand and led me toward the piano. My mind was broken at last -- that was the only explanation for all of this. Defeated, I took my place by the piano, then watched the woman sit crossed-legged on the floor.

Her appearance changed. The hair and the clothes remained the same, but now her face, unmasked, showed the tiniest horns at the top of the forehead, and the area around her left eye was discolored, green again, with a texture that reminded me of tree bark. She radiated serenity, calm, satisfaction. It made her beautiful, despite everything.

"Would you play for me once more?" she motioned toward the piano. "I wish to see you play, to hear you from up close."

There was sweet yearning in her voice. Never before had anyone actually asked me to perform for them. Even Christine only called out to me when she thought me to be her Angel of Music.

Stunned, I played, for the first time in a long while letting my hands uncover a brand new tune.

I hid myself from the world
To dream alone of memories
That will never be

- Angel of Music
Your voice still haunts me
- Angel
Your lips still soothe me

I hid myself from the world
To dream of our unsung duets
And love that will never be

No love for the man in the mask,
Christine
But will you remember me?

As I finished, my strange visitor stretched her arms and gave me a dreamy look.

"So sweet," she smiled. "What do you hide behind that mask?"

An old memory flashed before my eyes. The audience, screaming in horror and disgust.

"The mask stays on."

"Why? I revealed myself to you," she touched her face. "Won't you do the same? We are kindred spirits."

She got up and approached me, pulled me to my feet and raised her hand to my mask.

"Let me," she said. I pushed her away, but she held her balance, stepped up and raised her chin stubbornly. I lowered my hands.

"Take it off, then."

I waited with bitter satisfaction to see her reaction, to see her flinch in response. Nothing mattered anymore anyway. Let her see it!

She took off my mask. And smiled.

"Beautiful. We are different, dear human, but we still are kindred spirits. I knew it. I felt it in your songs."

I looked into her eyes then. We faced off like two reflections, face to face, distortion to distortion. Perhaps she was right, but what was she?