Reflect by the Lady Arianrod

a/n: First fic in a while! Anyway, this story is based primarily on the play. It's just little story in which Christine wonders about the phantom….and he watches her.

Disclaimer: ALW owns the musical version of the Phantom. I don't.


"I could serenade

I could fascinate you

I could resonate"

-"Fascinating", REM

She is alone in her room. Fingers warm and searching against the cold, slick mirror. Her hair falls loosely over a ruffled white nightgown. So innocent. The faint melody of a gentle aria just barely reaches her ears, and she immediately recognizes the song. Christine hums to herself, studying her reflection with mild interest. The candlelight is warm. She likes the way it shadows her eyes.

For a moment, Christine forgets her world of ballet and roses and opera. A deep loneliness floods the room, giving shadows life as they reach out to her impressionable heart. She turns from the darkness with a slight frustrated sigh. On days like these she feels so very alone…

And even so, a new feeling rises up inside, drowning her sorrow with a buoyant curiosity, a sensitivity to the mysteries and secrets of the world behind the garish opera. The voice… her angel…. Who was he? The voice enters her head, pervasive and subtle, flooding her senses and wrapping her in musical darkness.

The shadows are welcoming.

Christine lowers her hands, folding them tentatively in her lap as she peers at her own reflection once more, wondering if she was capable of something more than these bit-parts she danced through night after night….

Why had the Angel chosen her? She was merely a nameless dancer, a distant and lonely girl with few connections to the bright, material world…

He was the largest part of her world. Christine was the quiet satellite that circled the Angel's dark planet, gaining momentum year by year as gravity pulled her ever closer to him… The music of the spheres, she smiles, amused at her own silly analogy. Christine absentmindedly picks up a brush and runs it over the glossy surface of her deep chestnut hair.

Beyond the mirror, two eyes gaze deeply at the virginal maiden with her poetic silence and soft-edged silhouette against the candle-light. Gloved hands trace her outline, pulling her towards him. She couldn't see him, obviously, but a certain magnetism leads her closer to the mirror.

"I shall see you someday soon, Christine."

The voice floats over the room like a dizzying cloud of incense. Christine hears the musical voice utter her name. She shivers. Snow white hands clutch a rose as she contemplates the silkiness of the petals and the voice behind the mirror.

"Angel…," she whispers, looking at the face beyond her own. She begins to paint the portrait of her future as she falls asleep with mystery cloaking her thought.


Tell me what you thought! )