A/N: This will be my first ever chapter fic! I normally stick with one-shots, but I might as well try something new. This fic is based on the 2004 film with all of the characters being true to that interpretation with some aspects of the Leroux novel thrown in for good measure. Needless to say, I have no legal ownership over any of the characters that I am shamelessly stealing, err…borrowing. This will not be a straightforward story, it'll be written in a series of vignettes (some out of sequence) that will connect in the end to form a conclusion. The first few chapters will take place in different time periods. Anyways, enough boring meandering, here is my first chapter. Please review, if you do, I shall love you forever!
Chapter 1: The God of the Underworld (Prologue)
Fate is cruel. It waits until one is truly happy before ripping away their contentment. If one were to simply rely on fate to bring them good fortune and love, they would wait forever. They would die and their body would rot away to nothing long before they could ever obtain what they desired. That's why it was sometimes necessary to abandon reliance on fate and take control of events best left untouched. Fate can allow one to be born at a terrible disadvantage. A disadvantage so great that they are forced to dwell in dark solitude for all eternity, dreaming of sunlight, warm caresses, and casual conversation. Fate had given him two faces. The face of an angel, and the face of the devil himself. No one could look upon his features and not grimace, laugh, or scream in fear. His angel's face was never beautiful enough to earn the love of his mother. It was not beautiful enough to win the affections of his one great love. It was not beautiful enough to allow him to indulge in his second great love, his gift. His music. His devil's face did allow him some things though. He was a God in his domain, feared and revered like an ominous spirit promising death and destruction to those who dare challenge his authority and question his strength. None could hide from him, he always watched, he always knew.
His underground kingdom was darker than night and deeper than hell, and it struck fear in the hearts of those who feared its depths. They knew who resided in it, and they feared him. He was no longer a nameless child who was had no home, who was nothing to anyone, who was no one at all. He was the master his domain, of his own secret universe of opulence, splendor, and beauty. He alone governed the actions of those who lived in daylight. He would threaten and murder without a second thought, for his kingdom required all citizens to exercise fierce obedience to his demands. Their kind had spurned him, and he would never let them forget it.
He used to run his fingers over the strong ivory keys of his organ, relishing in the sounds that he created. Under his fingers the music turned to words, words that promised him love, acceptance, and normalcy. Only he could hear the words as they wrapped themselves around his frame and caressed his skin. They whispered softly to him, poetic and beautiful. When he wrote he wrote only for her, his angel. He used to dream of seducing her with his music, making her submit to him. He often dreamt of her coming to him willingly, bringing light into his darkened world. Her innocence and beauty would shine greater than any diamond; she would be his richest treasure. Purer than gold and more precious than any other jewel, she would bring joy into his life. His dungeon would turn into heaven, her touch would give him salvation. Once she was his, he would live as a man and not a ghost. He wanted her to come to him, to hold him, to touch him, to show him heaven in the deepest recesses of hell. Her lips upon his skin would warm his cold and blackened heart, and he would feel peace. Together their souls would ascend from the bleakness of his subterranean prison into a world of blissful ignorance and freedom.
The world they would create together would belong to no one else. They would be alone for all eternity, sharing with one another their music. Their souls would become whole again, their losses forgotten forever. Their hearts would beat if only so that they may never have to live a day without the other. She would never leave her angel, her god of the nighttime.
Yet, she did leave him. He was her god, her captor, her possessor, but she eluded him. The call of daylight and childhood romance tore her from his vicious embrace. His beautiful angel walked away from him, her face streaked with tears, her wedding gown wet and tattered. His future, his life, his heart, all left with her. She held all of him in her hands, and she left his body an empty shell. His great treasure was ripped from his grasp by his conscience. He was powerful, commanding, and feared, but he was not a monster. He was not a monster to her; he could not live with himself if she thought of him as one.
He could not imagine waking up next to her every morning, her body crumbled and curled into a ball, fearful of his touch. He imagined looking at her naked form each morning, knowing that tears stained her pillow. He could not imagine looking upon the bruises on her pale skin, knowing that he had created them in his wraith over her refusal to give her mind and soul to him along with her body. A god always got what he wished for, but it was always far more satisfying to know that the subject who granted the wishes were willing, even enthusiastic.
If he were to have her she would need to be a willing woman, weak in his arms. He hoped that someday she may be. He did not know, but he longed to. He would find her again, he would make her his, if even for a moment. He had relinquished his position as the lord of the underworld, he was Hades no more. He was now no more than a man, a man in need of the assurance of a woman. He would be empty until he saw her, touched her, and possessed her. He would do these things, in time. She would return to her angel.