This is my first POTO fanfiction and I'm really excited! Please review and tell me what you think! I hope you like it :) OH! If the writing is in Italics it's either a thought, a memory or something someone is reading or singing :) Enjoy!


Phantom's POV

Paris

Winter, 1897

Silence. The smell of smoke. It had been months since I set foot in this place where my creations were born. Since those ungrateful fools burned down my Opera house. Since she fled with the one she chose.

I made my way to what remained of my piano, my works singed black and scattered on the floor of this damp cave. With trembling hands, I pressed down on a blackened key, and heard a snap. The cord must've broken when the hammer hit it. So this is what remains, I thought. It seems fitting that as I am in pieces, my domain is as well. I was a little pleased that at least, my violin had been spared.

"Phantom," Giry's voice was soft but weak, tired. "It has been a year; you have shed your tears. Now it is time to move on. It is the time for new songs."

"No singer could ever sing them like her. No voice could possibly come close, ever," I replied meekly.

"She is in your past, only causes you torture. You can decide if she remains in your future," she finished and left me alone with my thoughts and my music.

My eyes wandered to the violin; crafted by my own hands, it was a part of my soul, like my other creations. Music, my own. Mine to bend at will. It is my friend, my love, my slave and my salve. Perhaps it will help me heal. If I can fill myself up with music maybe I'll be able to block out her voice.


The streets were so bitterly cold. The winter winds moaned from the houses and shops. It bit with sharp, cold and little teeth. I couldn't feel my extremities, and so my walk was a clumsy shuffle, almost like a drunk man who's lost a bet. I crossed my arms, squeezing my hands under my armpits to warm them up. My clothes were soaked from the wet snow, the humidity and my sweat and so waves of chills came upon me. One of my boots cought on an uneven cobblestone and I tripped, falling flat on the snow covered ground.

Somehow, I didn't want to get up. I just wanted to lie there and sleep and never awake. Let them catch up to me, let them take me back to that place. The smells of Paris weren't pleasant ones. Smoke from wood and coal fires, sewage and horse dung. The sounds at least seemed to leave me alone. Only the wind, a stray cat going through garbage, crows and my own noises: my breath, my thoughts, my heartbeat. Strange how I feel so weak and so ready to disappear and yet there it is beating savagely, almost rebellious. It is so very very cold.

I was on the border of sleep when I heard it. Like an angel's whisper, beckoning me to it. I couldn't seem to tell if it was a voice or something else. None the less, I pulled myself up.

Leaning against the walls of a huge building, I walked slowly to where the sound seemed strongest. A grate in a half moon, with vertical bars. I heard it clearer now, though it was still faint. With my prodding, the grate opened, hinges creaking. Inside I was sheltered from the cold winds and soon I found another gate which let me pass, almost inviting me in. How strange this place must be; full of tunnels and moving walls; thrice I fell upon dead ends. Walking down a dark spiral staircase I kept my hands on the wall to guide me.

I realized as I neared that it was not a voice but the cry of a violin. Oh and how softly it was being played! Sorrowful, even.

Soon enough, I reached an open room, large perhaps and cave like. It smelled of smoke and mold and the music echoed off the walls beautifully. I knelt and listened, as the violinist started to sing. A deep and strong voice resounded all around me; a man's voice!. How beautiful and haunting he sounds, but so cold and sad. I was no longer frozen, but rather burning up from within.

Think of me, think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye

Remember me once in a while

Please promise me, you will try

I seemed to know this song, as though it had passed through my lips once before.

When you'll find that once again you long

To take your heart back and be free

If you'll ever find a moment

Spare a thought for me

He stopped but carried on with his violin. I could bare it no longer. The words spilled out of me before I could stop them. I did not wish to disturb this grieving man but there was something in me screaming to sing. So I continued for him, as softly as I could, transforming his love song into a lullaby.

We never said our love was evergreen

The violin stopped sharply. Oh no! I hope I haven't upset the poor man.

"Who's there?" the man called out. He sounds enraged and his footsteps thudded as he came closer to me.

"I-I'm sorry monsieur, I-I was outside in the cold and I h-heard the violin and it was so enchanting you see, that I found my way here following the music and then you started singing, monsieur and I thought there was an angel hiding in your throat and then you stopped and only played your violin and I couldn't bear to have the song end before it was time that I just…well the words just…slipped out. I am so sorry monsieur; I didn't mean to disturb you," I spoke quickly. Oh,

I thought I saw a movement but I continued.

"I felt like I already knew the song, like I had sung it before. I'm so sorry-"

"ENOUGH!" he bellowed, his voice fearsome. I cringed and made myself into a ball defensively.

"Who are you?" he asked sternly, violin and bow at his side. Muted by his voice I seemed to have lost my own. He set the violin and bow on the piano, and walked ominously towards me.

"I said; who are you?" pausing between each word.

"S-Singer, sir," I whispered, head bowed.

I heard him snort. That's it, laugh like all the others.

"What was that?" he said warningly. Ah! I must have spoken aloud!

"N-nothing, nothing! I did not utter a word, nor a whisper to be heard."

Breathing was becoming a difficult task. Oh but now I was shivering, trembling like a leaf.

"Please finish the song, sir. I beg you, sing it sir," I said slipping to the floor. To no one I pleaded; "If I'm to die, let an angel sing me to sleep."

After a moment, though I'm not sure if I dreamt it, I heard his voice dance in the air.


The Phantom's Point Of View

How fitting it is, for me to play this song, this song that Christine held in her palm and gave wings to. Distantly, I heard the creaking of unoiled hinges. I glanced over, still playing, to the source but saw nothing.

For the first time since then, I sang.

Think of me, think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye

Remember me once in a while

Please promise me, you will try

When you'll find that once again you long

To take your heart back and be free

If you'll ever find a moment

Spare a thought for me

No I don't think I can go any further. So I kept to the violin.

Softly, like the rustling of feathers, a voice perched in the air.

We never said our love was evergreen

I stopped. How dare someone sing her song!

"Who's there?" I bellowed. The bundled figure of a child, kneeling on the floor by the wall jumped slightly. I strided towards her, rage burning through me.

"I-I'm sorry monsieur, I-I was outside in the cold and I h-heard the violin and it was so enchanting you see, that I found my way here following the music and then you started singing, monsieur and I thought there was an angel hiding in your throat and then you stopped and only played your violin and I couldn't bear to have the song end before it was time that I just…well the words just…slipped out. I am so sorry monsieur; I didn't mean to disturb you," her voice is small, quick like a mouse.

I held up my hand for her to stop, but she continued.

"I felt like I already knew the song, like I had sung it before. I'm so sorry-"

"ENOUGH!" I yelled and she curled up into a ball.

"Who are you?" I put down the instrument and moved closer in front of her.

"I said; who are you?" I said, pausing between each word.

"S-Singer, sir," her voice was a whisper, her head bowed.

I snorted at the name. She muttered under her breath.

"What was that?".

"N-nothing, nothing! I did not utter a word, nor a whisper to be heard."

There she goes, baffled again. Am I so fearsome that my mere presence makes her tremble? Her face was flushed, and I noticed the pool of water around her. If she had been outside, she must be freezing!

"Please finish the song, sir. I beg you, sing it sir," she said, slipping to the floor. "If I'm to die, let an angel sing me to sleep."

She looked half-dead, thin and malnourished, filthy and exhausted. Her speech was that of elsewhere and whispered of a country to the West. America most likely. I observed her in her clothes, rags more like it, for they were torn, worn and speckled with mud. Her plea sparked my pity and I sang another verse as she fell asleep.

I sighed, at a loss. I lifted her up in my arms and carried her to the swan bed. Thankfully, the ones who hounded me did not find the door to this room. I took off her boots, if one could even call them as such. The soles were used, the leather thin and worn; her left foot even peeked out at the point. I removed her soaked cloak and with a cover from the bed, dried her as best I could. She mumbled unintelligible words. She was still shivering so I piled three woolen blankets over her, as well as the duvet.

Then I pulled a chair over and sat, contemplating. She moved and a flash of light at her neck caught my eyes. Closer, it was a small bar of metal on a chain with no clasp, and not long enough for her to pass over her head. An inscription on it read: SINGER-Property of the French travelling Circus.


Thank you for reading! So I got two reviews (yay!) and finally decided to write in the past tense. It just feels better, doesn't it?

I'll be sure to update a new chapter as soon as I can! Please please please write me a review so I know what you liked and didn't like! :)