The Angel Of Music - |P.O.T.O.|

The Phantom Of The Opera

It was him. Madame Giry always said that the mirror never lied. And the woman was right. It was him, right in front of her, and the sweet girl couldn't believe in her own eyes. After all those long years, she could finally see the face of the person who sang to her in sleep, and came in her dreams; that voice which, by music, helped her in so many ways through her life.

She kept asking herself, "Can it be true?", "Do I dream again?"; yet, as she took his hand, trusting the man in front of her with a strange certainty, suddenly he was real. The sweet girl could feel her Angel of Music, and it was so comforting. It wasn't just another dream of her most creative head. He was there.

As her vision clarified and she glanced him in the eyes, she noticed a white mask covering half of his clear-skin face, and she asked herself why was that. The personification of her most fond of  voice became even more and more misterious at every step they took along the passage through the mirror.

The man guided both in a path which seemed to have no end, or that was what Christine believed in her mind. The corridors were made of damp, polished stone bricks, and golden candles and spider webs decorated the scene. She took a look behind to see if the mirror could still be seen, but nothing was found. Just walls of cold stones and a long path, lightened by the ancient candle sconces. Oh, it felt like an eternity. But it was worth it, and she wouldn't want to be anywhere else. She was where she so long wanted to be and discover.

After the long way, they walked down in a long staircase, the vision field opened, and the claustrophobic feeling was finally over. At last, they arrived to what seemed to be the entrance of a deep cave, with some sort of misty lake, and a dark, wooden canoe was waiting for them, so still above the calm waters, guarding a lamp to light the way. As they wandered through the crystalline waters, the amazed girl heard the phantasmagoric echoes, and watched the faces, bodies and silhouettes being formed by the shadows on the walls. The place just as misterious as its owner.

As the Angel of Music conducted both into the way, Christine looked up, noticing the smallest intruder crack of luminosity passing through those brute, primitive walls, and traced the moonlight beam with her eyes. The bright, natural flashlight reflected on the crystalline water, creating mistic, swimming creatures below the calm waves on the sweet girl's fanciful mind.

He led the canoe through a flowing river among a labyrinth of alleys and passages made of stone, where night was blind and day could never exist, going deeper to the underground of the theatre and flowing to the heart of the great cave. In it, there was an iron gate, separating the wide area in two and blocking their passage. As they approached, the gate someway began to open, perhaps with what seemed to be an ingenious machinery, revealing the place where the man lived.

An incredibly hidden lair, extremely full of burning candles, shadows and misterious melodies taking over the cavernous place, began to show itself. It had many galleries, which turned to become improvised, messy rooms. There were hooded mirrors everywhere, and a huge organ was centralized among the wooden planks, red velvet curtains, dirty ropes, crumpled papers, paint cans and construction tools. And Christine was completely astounded with the new world before her eyes.

Chandeliers raised from the lake as living, flying beings. The shadows and silhouettes seemed to gain form and life, dancing a macabre waltz, and the profound melody echoed along the cavernous place, the strong, inspiring symphony of darkness making their souls entwine in one.

— Sing for me, my angel of music! — He commanded, taking Christine's hand to leave the floating transportation.

Her crystal voice and precise vibrato filled the room as a sweet flood, just as the Phantom always dreamed of. He was aware that his skillful music powers over her were still to grow stronger with time. Christine was his apprentice surely, yet her birth gifts were heavenly to him. The perfection of her notes and tunes were a level of technique he had never heard before in his life on the Opera House, and he couldn't lose the opportunity to improve it and let her become the star she deserved to be. Her musical glory would be his most triumphant award. It was his mission, and they couldn't waste time any longer.

As the girl's ravishing voice faded, the following quietness became mortal. The only sound that insisted not to vanish was the flowing water and the low, thrilling echoes which came from the surface. With a dramatic flip of his cape, the Angel of Music glanced at her and broke the silence:

— I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne; to this kingdom where all must pay homage to music! — He made a flourish with the hands and extended his arms, as to introduce her to his lair and properly welcome the sweet soprano. — You have come here for one purpose. Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve me, to sing... for my music.

Everything there was so new and curious, but the girl's eyes were focused in one thing, observing the charm and precision of the Phantom's movements. And they sparkled of admiration. His perfectly back straightened dark hair reflecting the candle lights, his dark suit blending with the shadows, his strong, guttural voice. He was so... tempting. It could only be magic, because Christine wasn't able to decipher this feeling. "How is it even possible?", she asked to herself. He was a Master of Arts and a powerful genious.

And he was there only for her. He needed her to sing for him, remembering of the nights he spent wrighting scores and just imagining how to complete them with life. And Christine always came to his mind, her melodies fitting all of them with an inexplicable perfection. He needed to show her the music which had forever taken over his heart and soul. And she was all ears.