The O.G||Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction||

Obsessions, scars, and a freaky mirror

(*I, unfortunately, do not own any of this material. Songs and characters included, other than Ezra and Katerina of course*)

 “You alone can make my song take flight.”

         I sighed as the last notes rang from the small speakers of my laptop. Even after having seen the film at least a good fifteen to twenty times, nearly every song still sent shivers down my spine. I have to admit that after the first time I watched the musical I developed a major crush on the Phantom (then again it may just be Gerard Butler in general but that’s beside the point). There was just something about the manner in which he presented himself and the way he desperately longed to exist in a world that wanted absolutely nothing to do with him that I found utterly compelling.

         I nearly jumped off of the bed as loud knock on my bedroom door shook me from my thoughts.

         “Katerina darling, it’s almost midnight please turn that noise off and get to bed.”

         It was my grandmother. “Alright Nana, goodnight” I yelled back as I turned of the computer and waited for a reply that never came.

         “Well then….I guess she didn’t hear me” I muttered to myself in the newly dead silence of the room I had called my own for the past five years. It came as no surprise to me that grandmother didn’t hear me, she usually never did. Five long years had passed since my parents died, leaving my younger brother and I without anyone to care for us. Five years since we met our father’s mother for the first time since we were toddlers, and every last one had taken its toll on us all, especially grandmother.

         It was late into June and for some reason I had neglected to notice the fact that the room around me had grown unbearably hot. I hopped off my bed and attempted a skip that only led to me half tripping then falling over to the window. Ugh! Why am I such a clutz? As soon as I was once again capable I opened the window in the hopes that it was cooler outdoors than it was in. A wave of relief hit me as a gust of cool breeze swept through the small screen.

         I walked over to my dresser, grabbed my pajamas, and began to change in front of the huge antique mirror that stood on the wall opposite my bed. Upon my moving into this room grandmother insisted that the “useless hunk of scrap metal” be removed immediately. According to her it had been there since they bought the house in the sixties and she never much cared for it to begin with. It took a hell of a lot of begging and pleading on my part to convince her to leave it be. It saddened me to think that come fall I would be leaving the one object that brought me comfort for the bland walls of a small dorm two states away.

         Before pulling a shirt over my head I glanced at my back and the scars that covered its pale surface. A sharp pang ran through my heart at the memory of that night. They say fire cleanses all but neglect to mention that it also destroys it. I yanked the shirt on and, leaving my horror behind, waltzed over to the room’s adjoining bathroom to brush my teeth. As I put the blue-ish white paste on my toothbrush I quietly sang under my breath the one song that was always stuck in my head,

 “I am your angel of music, come to me angel of music”

         I was about to put the brush in my mouth when I could have sworn I heard what sounded like music coming from my room. I poked my head around the corner but soon determined that it must have come from the open window. As I finished rinsing I heard it again, this time louder. I slowly stumbled out of the bathroom to find what appeared to be fog slowly making its way across the floor’s wooden surface. I raised an eyebrow at the eerie mist as it found my toes. I followed the cool substance strait to the foot of my most prized possession, the mirror.

         As I stared at my reflection I heard a familiar tune followed by a faint voice that seemed to be coming from within the glass itself,

 “A collector's piece indeed…”

         I slowly reached up and touched its glossy surface only to find that my hand went straight through.

         “What in the hell?” I whispered and proceeded to stick my arm further through the now jelly-like surface. I was in such awe that I didn’t notice the amount of pressure that was being placed on my wrist.

 “....every detail exactly as she said…”  

        Oh jeez, I’m either hallucinating or Patrick Wilson is inside of my mirror singing.

         “What the f-”

         I felt a rough tug on my wrist and before I knew it I was sent spiralling into a black void which I assumed was what lied within the mirror, at least I think it’s still a mirror.