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Yes, I’m guilty…I have brought to you another one-shot songfic. Believe me when I tell you that I could not resist. This song is just so beautiful, and I can picture it so perfectly in my mind. I actually listened to this song on my MP3 player and closed my eyes and saw it. That’s just saying how perfect it is for the story. Please don’t be mad at me, this is going to take up quite a few pages. Enough chit-chat...Let the audience in…let my opera begin!
Disclaimer: I don’t own The Phantom of the Opera, nor do I own Seal…or his song, for that matter.
It had been three days since the lovely protégé Miss Daae had disappeared into the cellars of the Opera Populaire. Since her debut, nothing caused the people of Paris to whisper more than the acclaimed Opera Diva in-the-making. Her disappearance, however, seemed to have caused more commotion then any performance the young ingénue could give.
The Viscount Raoul de Chagny had been hustling about the Opera, demanding the whereabouts of the young girl, only to receive shrugged shoulders and apologies of ignorance. His mind swirled with thoughts of only who could have taken his childhood friend, and for that matter, to where. It had only been days before that he had heard that voice call to her from inside her dressing room….
“I am your angel of music…
Come to me: Angel of music…”
Those words burned inside his memory. That voice…that indistinguishable sound that filled his head with thoughts of torment and concern. Why had she not returned? Did that man, that ghostly figure kidnap his Little Lotte? Was she, as he thought these unanswerable questions darkly, being kept against her will inside a mad man’s prison? Where is she…?
Nevertheless, Raoul could not solve the mystery of Christine’s flight, nor could the Managers of the Opera. Monsieur Richard and Monsieur Moncharmin had lost sleep over the ordeal, yet they kept their heads at such a time. They issued a search for their back-up star, meanwhile begging La Carlotta, their main Diva, to return to their humble stage. Yet she clicked her tongue, sent her nose into the air with a ravish Italian air, promising never to step a foot inside the Opera Populaire unless her person was met with respect.
The performances were put on hold, therefore. No singer could match up to the vocal qualities of Christine, and few could compete with Carlotta’s experience, though her voice be short of pleasing. The Phantom of the Opera knew this, and he smiled upon the Managers’ circumstances, as well as the Viscount’s, holding on to their precious ingénue.
He sat on the throne of his kingdom, staring into the depths of the opaque lake. It shimmered like a glassy mirror, its surface murky and swirling with cloud-like mist. His face was shaded mysteriously behind his pasty mask, covering half his face, truly a contradiction. It edged along each crevice of his face, shaping with definition each curve, every outline. The corners of his pallid lips were set in stone. His eyes were focused and dark, catching slivers of candlelight within the pupils of his darkened orbs. Around him sat several objects, each illumined by the dim glow of the fiery light. The organ, sitting soundly with traces of sheet music spread across the keys. His desk, filled with notes and papers, unnecessary and unimportant at the moment. The candelabras, radiating warmth and comfort into the cold darkness. His bedroom, secret and secure, darkened with a black, lacy curtain over the bed and occupied by a beautiful singer.
In his bed slept Christine Daae, her cheeks rosy from the glow of the candles. Her dark auburn hair was loosely sprawled over the blood-red satin pillows, loosely curling over her eyes and onto her fair shoulders, barely covered by her cream-colored nightdress. Her dark eyes were shut in peaceful slumber, her eyebrows set in a thoughtful and dream-like manner. The angel slept unmoving, as if hypnotized into slumber by the Angel of Music.
He rose to his feet gracefully. In all his time alone, he had never felt peace stir within himself, a deep and beckoning longing to finally be content. He began to hum softly, an alluring sound that rose to a sweet harmony from his lips. He stood before the lake, as if singing to an audience that was not present.
“There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea,
You became the light on the dark side of me.
Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill..
But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and
The light that you shine can be seen…”
He turned his gaze to her, watching as a sigh escaped her rose-dappled lips. He began walking towards the swan bed, taking long, slow strides and emphasizing each note he sang with a deep, fiery passion and longing in each syllable.
“Baby!
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh,
The more I get of you,
The stranger it feels, yeah.
And now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey.”
He reached her bedside, lightly sitting beside her on the satin sheets. She did not move an inch, nor did she flinch as his presence graced her side. With his black gloved hand, he gently caressed her silky hair, removing it from her eyes. With all the tenderness of a lover, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, gazing lovingly upon her face.
“There is so much a man can tell you, so much he can say.
You remain,”
At this, he stood up and exploded with feeling, his arms widening towards the heavens.
“My power…my pleasure…my pain!”
He sat back down, gentle again, continuing to caress her face. He sang sweetly, his voice thoughful by the way he sang.
“To me you’re like a growing addiction that I can’t deny.
Won’t you tell me is that healthy, baby?
But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen.”
He stood once more, walking away from her side as he again exploded with thunderous emotion, evoking immeasurable love and power in his deep, enticing voice. He stood before the lake again, his arms outstretched and his voice echoing into the cellars beneath and the hallways above the Opera with supernatural power.
“Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you
The stranger it feels, yeah
Now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey…”
Awakening from her dream of dark music, Christine slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the light pouring in from the candle’s blaze. Hearing the voice of her dark angel sing, she was entranced, mesmerized by the sweet bitterness in the voice, almost calling to her from the caverns of her dreams. Slowly, she removed the sheets from her body, sliding onto her feet and walking slowly, hypnotized by the sound of the beautiful creature that sang. The words poured into her ears smoothly and silkily, snaking their way into her heart.
“I've been kissed by a rose on the grey…,
I've been kissed by a rose…
I've been kissed by a rose on the grey,
...And if I should fall along the way…
I've been kissed by a rose…”
Walking right up to the Phantom, he watched every step she took, every time her hair swayed or her arm moved. As he sang repetitively, each syllable increased with ardent longing, watching as she slowly came up to him, standing, their bodies close enough to touch.
“…been kissed by a rose on the grey!”
With these words, he spun her around, leaning her body close to his, smelling the light, dusky scent of her hair, feeling her warm cheeks graze his own. His voice became soft again, almost whispering his profession of love into her ear.
“There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say.
You remain…”
He turned her to face him, holding both her hands outstretched in front of them, bringing them slowly above his head and to rest on his shoulders. He in turn snaked his hands down her sides and rested them upon her hips.
”My power…. my pleasure….. my pain!”
He brought her close, close enough to whisper the words into her ear.
“To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny, yeah..
Won't you tell me is that healthy… baby?
But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen…”
Gently, yet firmly, he brought her away from him, holding onto one of her hands and leading her to his throne. He motioned for her to sit, and continued singing, his voice ever-so powerful and strong that it slowly brought tears of joy to Christine eyes. He slowly walked away from her, letting the sound of his voice bring want to Christine as she sat, watching the maestro use his God-given instrument.
“Baby!
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you
Stranger it feels, yeah
Now that your rose is in bloom…
A light hits the gloom on the grey.
Yes! I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey,
Ooh, the more I get of you…
Stranger! it feels, yeah
And now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grey…”
Returning to her, Christine obediently stood, as if by magic commanded to stand. Taking her dainty hands into his gloved ones, he stood close to her, holding her hands to her chest with ease and love. He placed a hand behind her head, gently descending the song into a final crescendo of emotion. His lips moved effortlessly, caressing the words with a natural ability that made Christine tingle with unrestrained love.
“Now that your rose…is in bloom
A light…hits the gloom…on the grey….”
Closing the gap between them, Erik sealed his lips with hers, tenderly escaping into a world of surreal. Placing his other hand on the small of her back, he increased the kiss into a passionate fervor, equally returned by Christine. They kissed like that for, what seemed, eternity, before both broke the connection with an air of incredibility and ultimate contentment. Christine stroked the right side of his face as he stroked her hair, uttering lovingly, “Come, we must return – those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you.”
I remain, gentle reviewers, your obedient servant,
StakeMeSpike04
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