A/N: Hello everybody! I'm here to bring you a Phantomy story! I love PotO, and I think that Gerard Butler is incredibly handsome, but I found his deformity not very... deformed. I will be cranking the deformity level of awesome up to ten-billion, and for those still reading; thou hast been warned. Take it away Sixty!

Sixty: The Incredible Nameless Wonder does not have the rights to The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters included in the book or films. This is published for entertainment purposes and don't sue her because she jail is a sick and boring place. Not to mention how humiliating it would be to go to jail for writing fanfiction anyway...

Me: Anyway, on with the story and for anybody who wants to know how my OC's look, please go to my profile, where they are listed along with my other stories. Enjoy!

More Than a Dream

Chapter One: The Book

Isn't it funny how a dream can change your life, and possibly the world?

History is based on dreams of glory, and everybody has a dream, I was no exception. Back when I was younger, I had a dream of being free, a dream that swept me off my feet and took me on an adventure with parts that I'd love to forget, but even more parts I hope to remember forever.

Are you still reading? Good, I'm quite glad; I assume you'd like to hear my story, yes? Well, by all means, I will tell, but I warn you, some of it may be very hard to believe...

"Well Annie, how are we feeling today?" I looked up from the white, tiled floor to my therapist with sleep-deprived eyes. It had been years since I'd gotten a decent sleep, who could anyway? What with the screaming and all.

"The use of 'we' in that sentence is somewhat emotionally non-neutral and bears a condescending, somewhat ironic nature, doctor." I replied and a smile of bewilderment lit up her face. Her brown hair was done up in a bun, with spectacles in front of her beautiful green eyes. She was single-handedly the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, but her mind was even prettier than her face.

"Whatever you say, Ann." She said, sitting down on her chair while I just sat on the bare floor, tugging my white hospital gown down so it covered my knees. She absentmindedly fiddled with her pen, clicking it and taking out her clipboard, jotting down the date and looking to the clock on the wall for the time. "How has Sixty been?" She asked and I shrugged.

"She says hi." I told her carelessly with a shrug and she lifted an eyebrow, another smile coming onto her pink lips.

"Does she now? And how do you know that?" She questioned and I turned to look at the empty wooden chair in the corner of the room.

"Because she's sitting in the chair over there." I replied casually, waving to Sixty, my best friend for life, if you could call my existence that.

She was unearthly beautiful, with soft, wavy hair that didn't really have a colour and vibrant purple eyes. She was terribly kind to me, and gave me hugs when the mean doctors upped my medication doses, but I knew she wasn't real, and it was upsetting to know that she was just a figment of my imagination.

She waved back, smirking at Dr. Hendrix, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Dr. Clara Hendrix looked at me with a shocked expression and then to the chair where I knew she couldn't see a damn thing. Mom used to tell me that no one saw what I did because I was special, now my 'specialness' had a name, and it's called schizophrenia.

"Well, tell her I say hello too then." Dr. Hendrix told me and I nodded. "So" She paused, fiddling with her pen, suddenly she seemed nervous. "How is Sycamore?" I tensed when she mentioned my other friend.

"She's… she's…" I stopped, my rage growing as I tried in vain to calm myself down. I" DON'T WANT TO TALK!" I shouted suddenly, standing up and running over to the chair and sitting down beside it. I was very angry with Dr. Hendrix for mentioning her. Sycamore is the second of my three friends, and she was the only one I wished would go away more than anything.

Sycamore was the reason I was in the loony home after all, she was the one that condemned me. Her hair was midnight without stars, her skin was paper with no drawings, her mouth was blood and her eyes were like Hell fire, burning into my soul. She'd talk to me when I was asleep, whisper things in my ear. Bad things. She'd tell me to hit and scratch and bite or worse and I'd have to listen, I'd have to. You don't make Sycamore angry… you just… don't.

"I'm sorry Annika, I didn't mean to upset you but we need to talk about her." Dr. Clara Hendrix said in a gentle voice. I shook my head; I hated to talk about Sycamore, and I especially didn't want to talk to someone who had no idea what it was like. "Come back here, I have a gift for you." She said in a singsong voice that, while irritating, peaked my interest.

"What is it?" I asked carefully, standing up and taking a step in her direction. Dr. Hendrix smiled at my interest and reached into her purse, pulling out a black-leather book. I couldn't read what was written in the silver font on the front because of the distance, but I loved novels very much. I took another few steps closer and was able to make out the title.

"It's called The Phantom of the Opera; I bought it when I was around your age." She told me with a big smile, holding the book out to me. I took it hesitantly, touching the cover with wide eyes and a gentle hand. I opened it up and flipped to a random page, reading what was written.

"Poor, unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be 'someone,' like everybody else. But he was too ugly! And he had to hide his genius or use it to play tricks with, when, with an ordinary face; he would have been one of the most distinguished of mankind! He had a heart that could have held the entire empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar. Ah, yes, we must need pity the Opera ghost..." I trailed off, my eyes widening further. I looked up to Dr. Hendrix, who had a far-away look in her eyes before coming back to earth and giving me a smile.

"Do you like it?" She asked quietly and I nodded, looking back to the book. "Then it's yours." She said and my mouth fell open in surprise.

"Really?" I asked my anger with her for mentioning Sycamore fading as I wondered just what this book was about.

"Mm-hmm. Think of it as a goodbye present." She said, her eyes falling to the ground. A smile that I didn't know was on my face fell and I cocked my head to the side, my curiosity growing.

"Goodbye present, Dr. Hendrix? What do you mean? The session's barely over!" I corrected and she didn't say anything right away.

"The hospital is moving me to a different premise's. I don't want to leave you Annika, but I have to, today is our last session." She said in a soft voice and suddenly, the anger returned.

"So you're just going to go?!" I shouted, resisting the urge to knock her block off. "You're just going to leave me here, I though you said I was your friend!" Blind rage built up inside me and I wanted to scream and kick and tear the world away. Yes, Dr. Hendrix didn't really understand me, but she was real, she was a friend and she was real. She meant a lot to me, more than I think even she knew, and the idea of her leaving was impossible to deal with.

"I know you're upset, Annika, but there's nothing I can do!" She exclaimed in a desperate voice, trying to get me to calm down. "I tried to convince the Warden, but you can't make her do anything she doesn't want, I'm sorry." She said, this time quieter. The anger dulled to sadness as I fought back tears. I was a big girl, almost seventeen, and big girls don't cry, that's what Dad always told me.

"I don't want you to leave." I said in a dull voice and she nodded, sighing and taking out a tissue from her breast-pocket. She dabbed her eyes and lifted her gaze to the ceiling so her mascara wouldn't run. I'd never seen anybody cry before, and after she did, I never wanted to again, it's horrible to see somebody so sad, and no one should ever be that upset.

"I'm sorry, Annika, I don't usually get this emotional, but I am going to miss you." She told me and I nodded in agreement.

"I'll miss you too, I guess." I replied and she gave me a soft, sad smile.

"Read the book, my dear, and think of me when you get the chance, okay?" She asked and I nodded again, moving a little closer.

"We still have fifteen minutes, Dr. Hendrix, you don't have to leave." I said and she smiled brighter.

"I could read the first few chapters, if you'd like." She offered and I smiled back at her, making room on the floor for her to sit down. She joined me and took the book, turning it open and inhaling.

"Let's do this." I said, making her laugh as she began to read.

"It was the evening on which MM. Debienne and Poligny, the managers of the Opera, were giving a last gala performance to mark their retirement. Suddenly the dressing-room of La Sorelli, one of the principal dancers, was invaded by half-a-dozen young ladies of the ballet, who had come up from the stage after "dancing" Polyeucte. They rushed in amid great confusion, some giving vent to forced and unnatural laughter, others to cries of terror. Sorelli, who wished to be alone for a moment to "run through" the speech which she was to make to the resigning managers, looked around angrily at the mad and tumultuous crowd…" Dr. Clara Hendrix read the first paragraph I was completely hooked, she read on for the rest of the time we had together before putting it done and giving me a hug, telling me that she had to go. She stood up and she walked out the door, and I never saw her again.

I think of her often, as she told me to, `and wonder if she ever did get married to her fiancée; William, and if she ever had any children, if so, how many and what she named them. I never forgot my first real friend, but it was on the night that she fled my life that everything would change, and I owe it all to her.

That night, I stayed up and finished the whole book from cover to cover for her. I would read parts, while Sixty would read others and in the end, both of us were sobbing hysterically. But still, despite the sadness, the story was magical, and I found I could relate.

Erik, the Phantom of the Opera was alone in the world, and while I had Sixty, she wasn't technically alive. Most of the time, she was never around anyway, and I had to deal with the screaming from the patients whose condition was much worse than mine paired with the dizzying medication that did help my temper. My temper was now pretty much supressed for all eternity and while certain things could set me off, it was nowhere near as bad as six years ago when I was ten.

I shan't bore you with the details of my experience where I tried to kill my physical therapist, although it is a rather entertaining story involving a filing cabinet, a mouse and a pencil, but that was a very, very long time ago and while I did enjoy trying to murder someone, I can't say I'm proud of it.

I looked to the window when I heard a rustling noise and a smile broke out on my tear-stained face. I stood up from the bed and rushed over, throwing open the panes of glass and allowing my third and final friend into the room.

"Goblin!" I cried happily as he flew in over my head, landing on the bedpost. Goblin was the only animal friend I had, and he took the form of a large barn owl, with a huge wingspan. When he spoke –and yes, he could speak- he talked with a strange, yet beautiful British accent.

"My dear, dear Annika, how have you been?" He asked and I shrugged.

"Dr. Hendrix is gone, the hospital moved her." I told him sadly and he made a sympathetic noise.

"Oh, how tragic, I rather liked her, she was quite beautiful." He said in a faraway voice, making me giggle.

"Oh Goblin, you and your damned beauty! It just so happens that I liked Dr. Hendrix for her mind!" I exclaimed and the owl laughed and took off into the air again, soaring around the room before landing on Sixty's head.

"Hey! Watch it!" She shouted, shooing him away, making me laugh even harder.

"I'm terribly sorry, darling, it won't happen again." He apologized and she rolled her eyes, letting them close again as she tried to get some sleep. She assured me that the floor was fine and when I objected, she would remind me that she didn't really need a bed as she wasn't really there. This made sense to me and so whenever she would sleep over, I would take the bed as usual while she took the floor.

Goblin settled in his spot on the headboard, tucking his wings up and getting comfortable. My eyelids grew heavy as I lay down, my mind racing with thoughts of the Opera Ghost and Christine and Raoul.

"Goodnight, Sixty. Goodnight, Goblin." I said to them and they muttered back something I couldn't hear just before I let my eyes close, drifting off into one of the best sleep's I'd had in a very long time.