Hey, EriksAngeDeLaMusique here. This is a new fanfic I've been thinking a lot about. No, I'm not quitting my other story, My Protector, this is just a side project. I just had to write something about it! Anyway, tell me what you think, and if I should continue with this :) As for the title, I got the idea for this fanfic while listening to The Lucky One by Taylor Swift. To me, it has a really eerie feeling in the lyrics if you listen closely.

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I mean, if I did, it would have ended much, much differently :) *squeezes Erik plushie*


15 Years earlier

A woman in her early thirties flipped through the channels on the television with a sigh. It was a content sigh, as she watched her daughter play with her dolls on the living room floor, and smelled dinner cooking. Her husband had offered to cook. It was a nice change. She was ready for a small break.

As she channel surfed, she heard a burst of music before she passed it. She flipped back hurriedly. When she settled on the right channel, her eyes lit up.

"Gustave! Gustave, come out here!" she called excitedly.

"What, Mama?" asked her daughter with her nose scrunched up adorably.

"Come here, Christine," the woman said softly. The six year old girl padded over to her mother, her doll in hand, and let herself be pulled onto the woman's lap. She fixed her doll's hair as her own dark brown curls were caressed by her mother.

"What are you yelling about, Mandy?" the woman's husband asked jovially as he entered the room.

"Kelly likes your apron, Papa," Christine giggled, waving her doll at her father.

Gustave DaaƩ smiled and tugged on his frilled pink apron. "Yes, your mother likes it as well. I think it suits me rather nicely, don't you agree?"

Christine giggled and looked at her mother as she shushed them with a soft smile.

"Look who's making another appearance," Mandy said.

They looked at the television. In a park, somewhere in New York City, a camera was capturing a performance. The man stood on stage, tall and thin, yet imposing, and every time his mouth opened it was like an angel was singing. The audience was silent, observing the man in awe. It was not your typical rock concert. Instead, the man was singing an aria from a popular opera. Of course, anyone who was a fan, such as the DaaƩ's, knew that the man could do any style, play any instrument, under the sun.

Christine watched the screen intently. She recognized this music. Her Mama and Papa played his music all the time. She tried to remember what his name was. As the camera zoomed in on him, she wondered briefly why he wore a mask. But what did it matter? His voice was pretty. Christine closed her eyes and leaned back against her Mama, letting the music envelop her.

"A musical prodigy," Mandy said in a hushed tone. "Absolutely amazing. You can't find music like this anymore."

"That kid is going to make it far," Gustave agreed.

"Kid?" said Mandy. "How old is he now?"

"About nineteen, I'd say," Gustave said. "I first heard him about September of last year."

"He's barely an adult," she said with surprise.

"He's going to be around for a long time."

"I do hope the media's not too harsh on him," said Mandy. "I've heard people pestering him about his mask, no matter how many times he says he doesn't want to talk about it. And you should hear some of the rumours. They're terrible! Whether it's a fashion thing, or something serious, they shouldn't bother him." She frowned. "He's only just a child."

Gustave patted his wife's shoulder. "It's what they do. I wouldn't be too worried, though. I saw him being interviewed. It was a big thing, since he rarely let's any of those reporters talk to him. They tried to ask him about where he's from, and he refused to answer. They asked about his mask, and he told them not to ask anything if it has nothing to do with the music. They wouldn't stop, so he just got up and left the whole interview." Gustave chuckled a bit at the memory. It was wrong what had happened, but the boy had pluck, that was for sure.

"Still," said Mandy, biting her lip.

"He can fend for himself, dear," said Gustave. The stove in the kitchen began to beep and Gustave hurried away.

Mandy glanced at their vast collection of music in a shelf along the wall. For having just started out, the man, Erik Destler, had certainly done well. She already owned two albums and a number of singles by him. He wasn't like the typical young singers, and maybe that's what drew attention. Who was she kidding? No matter how talented he was, no matter how original he was, it would always come back to his mask.

She stroked Christine's hair and watched the video, smiling a bit as she watched him. The passion in his words and the ecstasy on his face reminded her of when she and Gustave performed. They had gotten nowhere near as popular as Erik, but they had enjoyed their small run. It was for the enjoyment, and she enjoyed the work she had now. Still, sometimes she wondered what would have happened if they had become popular, selling concerts and albums.

That morning Christine had been singing as she played with her doll-what was her name this week? Oh, right, Kelly. Mandy had to admit her daughter was already talented, and in love with music. Mandy had started teaching her a bit of piano and singing. Maybe she would think about getting a real teacher for her.

Little Christine, her brown eyes shut peacefully, was unaware of the hopes and dreams her mother had for her. No, she was happy to just listen to the music man. It made her want to sing along. Compared to him, she would sound terrible, but maybe she would get better.

Gustave called his small, musical family to dinner. Christine quickly forgot her previous thoughts and raced into the kitchen, dragging over a stool for Kelly to sit on beside her. Mandy left the television on so they could still hear him, even if they couldn't see him.


After the show, a man dressed impeccably with a fedora tilted over his head bowed for his audience, thanking them for coming to see him, and then left the stage, grabbing a bottle of water from backstage. He tried to lengthen the amount of time he spent getting ready to go home, but he didn't have much to prepare. The only part he didn't like about performing was the annoying, reporters who tried to pry into his affairs. He could not avoid them, he knew, but it was rather annoying. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

He slipped outside and was immediately ambushed by fans. He signed a few pieces of paper, an arm or two, without trying to look aggravated. He appreciated these people, to an extent. They liked his music! How could he have made it anywhere without them? And yet, people annoyed him greatly. With their questions, and stares, and damnable curiosity! They knew nothing about him, they had no right to ask questions, or give him strange looks. He was lucky most people had come to the conclusion his mask was some sort of statement. Of course, he knew they would. No matter how ridiculous, people would always come to a conclusion. They would also constantly try to find out the truth, but what else could be done?

"Hello, Mr. Destler, would you like to answer some questions for your fans?" asked a blonde woman, sticking a microphone in his face.

"Not particularly," Erik said, walking past her. Most people had cleared a while ago. He refused photographs, and yet, people still got them. How he hated it!

Maybe, for once, it wasn't the world's fault he was in such a bad mood. There had been a number of people pestering him about his mask that week, more so than usual. It put him on edge.

The woman followed after him. "How come you have done barely any interviews? With your popularity, you must have gotten plenty of offers! Any other rising star would love the attention and media-"

Erik whirled around. "I do not care for the popularity, or for the media. You are aggravating me. Go away."

The reporter pursed her ruby red lips.

Erik sighed. He didn't want to talk to this woman, he really didn't, but he didn't want to appear ungrateful. That was the only reason. He didn't feel very sorry. It served her right for trying to suck information out of him, like a leech. "I do apologize," Erik lied smoothly. "I have quite the headache at the moment. About the interviews, I prefer to keep to myself."

The woman perked up immediately. "It makes you very mysterious. People love that!" she chirped.

"Yes," he said coolly, walking towards the parking lot. She continued to follow him.

"Perhaps when you're feeling better, we could arrange another interview, maybe over dinner?" she asked, looking at him under her eyelashes, attempting to look alluring.

Erik already had the door of his limo opened. He grimaced, and then smirked as he turned to face her. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

Her smile quickly changed into a gape. She had probably never been told such a thing in her life. She scowled, stomped one shiny, leather, white boot, and stalked away, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

With a smile of satisfaction, Erik climbed into the limo. Inside, it was upholstered in leather. It was nothing too fancy. Erik didn't care for that kind of thing. As the limo pulled out of the parking lot, Erik turned to face a dark skinned man in fine suit, sitting opposite him.

"Hello, Nadir. How are you?" he asked.

Nadir frowned. "What did you say to her, Erik?"

Erik shrugged. "Nothing that a spoiled child wouldn't need to hear."

Nadir closed his eyes, as if every conversation with Erik made him wonder how the boy became so popular. "Erik, you do realize that every word you tell someone can make you more popular or ruin your career?"

"I'd be fine if people quit snooping into my affairs."

"Try to act civilize in public, alright, Erik? Just try?"

"Maybe," was all the masked man had to say.

Nadir shook his head. The boy stared out the tinted window as they passed through the city. Nadir knew there were plenty more reasons for the boy's rude behaviour. One, being that he hated performing in the daylight. He preferred the night, where he could slip out unnoticed. Nadir had never had such a strange client before. Heck, he'd never met a person such as Erik before. Nadir was, quite likely, the only one besides the boy's own parents who knew what was under his mask, and was quite likely the only other one who'd ever see it. Unlike his parents, however, Nadir was the only one who had come close to accepting what was under the mask, and again, was likely the only one who ever would. It was a sad fate Nadir wished on no one, but the boy didn't seem to care all that much. He noticed, of course, but it didn't seem to affect him. Unlike other boys his age, he had never liked what they did. Never displayed an interest outside of his books or music. The kid was a genius, for certain. He had never dated, never seemed interested. It was all about the music.

Nadir knew that should make him ecstatic. He was a manager of a huge music producing company, with one of the most popular and talented performers who ever lived, and didn't seem to have a care for anything else. But Nadir had almost a fatherly concern over the boy, he always had. And he worried for him. But what was there to do? He couldn't tell the boy what to do, not that he'd listen, and he couldn't tell people to stop being curious. Nadir just hoped that they didn't push him too far.

Erik watched the city pass outside, wondering what he was going to do about the insatiable curiosity of the country, oblivious to the dreams of music he was inspiring in a young girl, miles and miles away.


So...do you like it? Should I quit while I'm ahead? Tell me what you think in a review :) If I continue, this will likely not be updated as often as my other one, since I started it first. Also, the chapters will be longer. This is just the prologue. :)