Hello, My Angel of Music

Prologue

To all my lovely readers; phans, and everyone! Hello! I have brought you a new phanfic, of mine! yes, o'course it's not new, as this story is edited. I planned to write this story, when I firstly saw the musical, The Phantom of the Opera 25th anniversary in Royal Albert Hall. I know, I'm a bit picky person at personal tastes haha!

Well I do think that I am not only one who cries at the end of the show, cause of Erik! In the every lines and every scenes of his', you surely could indicate that he despises and cuts down him ownself, while he doesn't have to. From there, I started to write this. Not even Erik himself, the world already discriminates him (even Christine does) and for that, he just let them to worth their while. And I was, and still am very annihilated deeply which of the reason he doesn't have to. So I wanted to him be loved, truly. Not because of just the pitiess nor compassions. My Erik deserves more loves! :p

Btw, I do think Erik's real-face is quite handsome! Am I the only one? well, it'll be your choice to believe it or not, but I do mean it! I think I'm gravely fall in love with this fictional-man. XD I'm doomed! Yayy!

So! I'll make it short for sermons! ;D All of those in above, is the reason I write this story. And here we go with every fanfiction's traditional disclaimer: I do not own the any of plot's of ALW's musical PotO, nor Leroux's, and every muscial acts! I surely don't own any lyrics of songs or the lines that I wrote above in every chapters. I only own my original stories and my darling precious babies (original characters).

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Prologue

If all else perished, and he remained,

I should still continue to be

And if all else remained,

and he were annihilated,

The universe would turn to a mighty stranger.

Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë

1878 Paris, France - There's a plain headstone which is nothing on it, only but the heavy snows. It was covered whole over and over, so no one could dare ever know who it was. There were lots of stones sticking around together, of whom once was the part of the world; yet this one wasnt. Isolated and far from the others, stood lonely, apart from the world. And it was the small and long white fingers, which brushed them off gently:

Henry Riley

1829 - 1869

'The true everlasting music is the love.'

Below those words, the white and the blue Myosotis flower bouquets, trimmed and wrapped neatly, laid down on the hardened soils, tied up with the brown packaged string together.