#2004 poto

[mademoiselle-artist]

Erik with blind reader headcanons

-When he met you the meeting was interesting to say the least.

I have two ideas on how he met you.

You either slipped and fell into the entrance to his lair

Or you bumped into him.

Either way Erik is intrigued. You had no fear.

When you tell him you're blind he realizes you cant see his deformity.

Will hold your hand and guide you

Doesn't like when people stare at you.

Truly is a sweetheart once you get to know him.

Is hesitant to let you touch his face.

When he does let you touch his face he melts

He is more than happy to describe to you how you look

he would draw many sketches of you

He would also try to make a braille translation of his songs so you can read them.

He will hide in the shadows and make sure you don't crash or trip on anything.

He likes that he can be himself around you and know you wont judge him.

That's all I have for now I just wanted to make head canons about this to see what ya'll thought.

[operas-phantom]

We’re.. multiplying..

[hannah-lou]

Please-

Send some help to me... save me 😫🫦

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Hi! Your writing is some of the best on here, I’m so grateful to be able to read it <3 You write Erik stunningly, thank you.

I wanted to request a fic where Erik is just overall loved and pampered by the reader. She massages his shoulders, moisturises his skin, gently combs his hair, etc. He might cry, he’ll probably feel unworthy of it all, but the reader reassures him that he’s all she ever needs and wants, and she goes “Do you believe me?” And he replies, in awe, “I…I suppose I do.” Hurt followed by tooth-rotting, fluffy comfort.

No pressure, though! A thousand thank-you’s for everything.

this is so cute and sappy i loved writing it!

word count-562

tags- insecure erik, comfort, fluffy angst

The candlelight flickered, casting soft shadows along the walls of Erik’s hidden domain. The Phantom sat stiffly in his chair, hands clasped tightly in his lap, as you moved behind him, warm fingers grazing his tense shoulders. He barely flinched at your touch now—a quiet victory in itself.

“Relax,” you whispered, pressing your thumbs into the rigid knots beneath his cloak. You could feel the way his body resisted, wound tight with a lifetime of suspicion and self-loathing. But you were patient. You always were.

“This is unnecessary,” Erik muttered, though his voice lacked its usual venom. His head dipped slightly forward, betraying his exhaustion.

“Maybe,” you murmured, kneading gently, “but I want to. Just let me take care of you.”

His breath hitched as you slipped the cloak from his shoulders, baring the stark contrast of smooth and scarred skin. You traced the sharp line of his spine before picking up a small jar of moisturizer from the table. Dipping your fingers into the cool cream, you smoothed it carefully over his skin, working the moisture in with slow, deliberate strokes. Erik trembled beneath your hands.

“I—” He swallowed thickly. “No one has ever done this for me.”

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his unmasked temple. “Then let me be the first.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken emotions. You reached for the silver comb resting nearby and carefully gathered his long, dark hair, easing the fine teeth through the tangled strands. He made a strangled sound, something between a sigh and a sob, and his grip on the arms of his chair tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“You deserve this, Erik,” you said softly, still combing through his silken locks. “You deserve kindness.”

He let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as if afraid to look at you, afraid to believe it. You paused, shifting to kneel before him, taking his hands in yours. His fingers twitched but did not pull away.

“I don’t understand why,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t know how to—”

“You don’t have to understand,” you interrupted gently. “Just believe me.”

You lifted his hands, pressing kisses to his scarred knuckles, to the trembling fingertips that had known nothing but cruelty. His golden eyes, wide with disbelief, shone in the dim light. He searched your face, desperate, wary—hopeful.

“Do you believe me, Erik?” you asked, voice soft, steady.

For a long moment, he only stared at you, lips parted, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Then, hesitantly, reverently, he murmured, “I…I suppose I do.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks, silent and unbidden, as you pulled him into your arms. And for the first time in his lonely existence, Erik did not push love away.

[vladimirsangel]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera (2004), The Phantom of the Opera (TV 1990), The Phantom of the Opera (1925), Phantom - Susan Kay Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Nadir Khan, The Persian (Phantom of the Opera) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multiple Eriks, Humor, Hobby Store AU, There's nothing that annoys Erik like another Erik, Fights Summary:

Months go by and still nobody has given you an explanation for the higher-than-average number of customers seemingly dressed for the cabaret. It’s almost becoming a hobby in itself for you, watching the comings and goings of the five masked men.

@purrlockswatson is to blame for this

@blackforrestpunk you're not blameless either

[dissociativewriter]

Once Upon Another Time

Love and Deepspace x Phantom of the Opera

Pairing: Sylus x Christine (OC) x Caleb

wc: 1.4k

cw: nothing bad in this part but for the rest- implied murder, maybe actual murder eventually, consensual kidnapping (?) eventually, probably angst eventually; not proofread; no beta we die like Josephine

Synopsis: A singer at the opera house, Christine is faced with a Colonel from a childhood she barely remembers and a mysterious figure, called the Opera Ghost, who seems to know all the secrets of the opera house and beyond. Stuck between life above and below the opera house, Christine attempts to balance her care for the two men with her budding career in opera. Unfortunately, it seems neither man will settle for half of Christine’s love.

author’s note: writing Caleb’s perspective while still keeping the ‘mystery’ (even though it’s obvious who he is) was more challenging than I thought. I also feel like I wrote too much chemistry between Rafayel and Christine for him not even being a love interest, but I’m going to establish their relationship as purely platonic in the next part so it’s fine.

art found on Pinterest (springstorm art & sesame fruit)

Series Masterlist

2- Think of Me

Christine blinked in the bright light. She stared out at the unfamiliar faces before her, who only stared back expectantly. Christine suddenly felt the weight of the hundreds of people waiting for her, for her singing, for her performance, pushing down deep in her lungs. The weight of their stares, the weight of their expectations, the weight of her ornate ballgown. It all felt like too much, more than she could handle on her own.

With a shallow, shaky breath, Christine brought her posture up; shoulders back, head held high, just as she’d been taught. Her eyes drifted across the crowd as she waited for her cue. Why there was such a delay after the curtain rose, Christine didn’t know. If they didn’t hurry, she noted nervously, she would have to perform unaccompanied.

She looked to Box 5. The center of many rumors and legends that circled the opera house, and an area of particular interest to Christine now. Empty yet imposing, Christine searched for anything in the famed box that could either confirm her suspicions or put her mind to rest. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but Christine couldn’t explain the flash of crimson she’d seen before going on stage. She saw nothing more, however, and was quickly pulled away from her observation as the conductor tapped his baton.

The soft piano notes echoed through the concert hall, and Christine took one final deep breath before beginning her performance.

‘Think of Me.’ A somber song, but beautiful nonetheless. A plea to a past love not to forget. Inherently nostalgic to Christine from a childhood she could not fully remember. Her melancholy voice filled the opera house, capturing the attention of the audience.

Christine’s voice rose as the music swelled, finding her confidence alongside her voice. Settling into the music, Christine didn’t notice the crimson glint in the tall shadowy figure at the back of Box 5, or the Colonel only just taking his seat in Box 3, his interest apparent in his expression.

The Colonel lifted his hat, resting it in his lap as dark brown locks fell over his eyes. Leaning forward, holding onto the railing of the box, he muttered, “Can it be…?” As there was a brief instrumental break in the song, a few shouts of ‘bravo!’ could be heard throughout the concert hall. The violet eyes of the Colonel scanned the singer’s face, searching for something undeniably familiar.

He settled on her eyes, a familiar, determined glint drawing him in. The Colonel was reminded of summers long past, of two children in the countryside. “Can it be Christine?”

The Colonel resolved to meet her after the performance. Although it had been requested that singers not be approached, nothing was out of reach for the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet. And surely an exception could be made for a childhood friend, right?

The Colonel looked over the railing of Box 3, down, over the heads of those in Box 4, into Box 5. Withholding his disappointment on finding it empty, he leaned back in his seat. His eyes fixated on the girl on stage, and as her song came to a close, he felt something settle in his chest.

“After all this time,” he whispered. “I’ve found you again.” His hand flexed as he breathed, “Christine.”

Thunderous applause rumbled through the opera house as Christine curtsied, her smile wide and bright. Hands clasped as she bowed again, Christine was eager to run off stage, back to the safety of her dressing room. The thrill of performance was undeniable, but it was impossible to not crave the comfort and familiarity in this alien experience. She turned from the stage as the curtains closed, immediately met with the blinding grin of Rafayel.

“See? I told you, you’d be amazing!” He pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close.

Christine frantically patted his shoulder. “Raf, you’re suffocating me!” He loosened his grip slightly, pouting into her hair all the while.

“I can’t help it! You were beautiful out there!” She felt his wide grin against her neck as he nearly vibrated with excitement. His voice took a softer tone as he asked, “Do you feel alright? Anything wrong? I know performing can be nerve-wracking.”

Christine rested her head against his chest. “It was scary when I first went on stage. When the music didn’t start, I didn’t know what to do!” She felt Rafayel nod. “But once I got into the song, it was really thrilling.” She smiled.

“I’m so glad, cutie. You let me know if anything goes wrong, alright?” His grip tightened again, but Christine didn’t complain this time. “Your big, strong Raf will come to the rescue!”

Christine snorted, but before she could respond, they were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Rafayel raised his head, completely prepared to tell whoever it was to wait their turn, that his cutie just had an amazing performance and he wanted to make sure she knew it, but the words died in his throat when he caught sight of the insignia on his coat. He shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to let go but knowing he should before things escalated beyond annoyance. He reluctantly released Christine under the hard, scrutinizing gaze of the Colonel.

“Christine?” Though the edge on his voice softened slightly, the Colonel still stood before them, tall and imposing. She looked up at him, nodding slightly. “Could I talk to you in private?” He sidestepped beside them, motioning to a secluded hallway backstage. Christine gave one final, curious look to Rafayel, who only mirrored her own confusion, before following the Colonel.

Once they were by themselves, the Colonel grabbed Christine’s hands, tightly engulfing them in his own as if he were afraid she would disappear. Christine looked at him, the shock evident in her eyes even though she tried to keep a neutral expression.

“How can I help you, Colonel?” She swallowed nervously.

His brows drew together. “You… don’t recognize me?”

“Am I supposed to?” Christine cocked her head.

“Yes!” He said a bit more forcefully than he intended, internally wincing as Christine flinched back. “I just…” the Colonel sighed, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair. He looked back to Christine, eyes wide and pleading. “We were practically raised together. Don’t you remember?”

Christine frowned. “I’m really very sorry, but I don’t remember a Caleb. Maybe you’re thinking of a different Christine?” she offered, her frown only deepening as he shook his head. An impatient cry of her name brought Christine’s attention away from the Colonel, much to his chagrin.

She turned back to him, now offering an apologetic smile. “I’ve got to get going. It was wonderful meeting you, Colonel, and I hope you find who you’re looking for.”

The Colonel stared after her as she ran off, disbelief and disappointment mingling in his violet eyes. A small smile found its way onto his lips as she watched her happily converse with Talia. “Long ago,” he whispered hoarsely. “It seems so long ago. How young and innocent we were! She may not remember me, but I remember her.” Caleb grinned somberly.

After only a couple more performances, the chattering audience was ushered out of the opera house, their praises of the night’s singers echoing in the darkened streets. Christine, in all the bustle of the crowd, managed to sneak away to satiate her curiosity. Swallowing her fear, she forcibly pulled back the curtain leading into Box 5.

She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved upon finding the chairs undisturbed. She took a step further in, searching for any indication of the Opera Ghost. While she stubbornly believed the him to be only a rumor, she couldn’t explain what she had seen before her performance. And who knows, Christine thought, maybe knowing the Opera Ghost wouldn’t be so bad.

She sighed upon finding nothing, but just as she was turning to leave, a glossy black on the arm of the seat caught her eye. She knelt down next to the seat to have a closer look. Carefully balancing the delicate crow’s feather between her fingers, Christine didn’t notice the two watchful eyes on her.

The Phantom of the Opera watched the singer so blatantly intrude upon his space, and, for once, did not act in malice. He stood, attentive eyes trained on her, a long-forgotten emotion passing through his crimson eyes. Maybe someone knowing the Opera Ghost wouldn’t be so bad, he thought.

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[megthegiry]

I know, Raoul isn't the reason why the Phantom pulled Christine into his dark world.

It's me.

[purrlockswatson]

I love Gerik the Cat and cat vampires that you have drawn! Could you draw Gerik as 12 — a supernatural being? He must be so cute with vampire fangs 💗

He's here! The vampurr of the opurra!

Gerik ticks all the vampire essentials except for the FANGS. He even has a Byronic shirt, and we all know Byron was the first model pretty vampire.

From this prompt list! Send in which items (and cats) you want to see! I already have two cat kisses in the wings... 👀

All POTO cats here!

[kitthefoxkin]

Three moodboards

First moodboard

A German shepherd therian moodboard with themes of six flags New Orleans ,quotes about stray dogs and water

Second moodboard

A carouselkin moodboard with themes of night lights , carnival games and fairs

Third moodboard

A moodboard of Meg girly from the 2004 phantom of the Opera film with themes of French bakeries,the palais garnier and creme brulee

Have a nice day

1) German Shepherd moodboard with themes of six flags New Orleans, quotes about stray dogs, and water

2) carouselkin moodboard with themes of night lights, carnival games, and fairs

3) Meg Giry (phantom of the opera) moodboard with themes of French bakeries, Le Palais Garnier, and creme brûlée

[nerissalmao]

mhm so uh yeah

Everybody knows I love Arcane. Everybody knows I love Phantom of the Opera. But what if they were more similar than we think?

Okay. Erik. While this isn’t very known, I’ve never seen anyone say anything about it, he does hear voices like Jinx does. In the 2004 movie he thinks he hears Christine and Raoul singing to each other as they leave, and it can’t be them, it must be his mind, for they’re on their way out and Christine even looks back at Erik. She’s not singing. Erik only thinks he hears their promises of romance echo in his head, like he does at the rooftop scene where again the words echo— causing him to, like Jinx, suffer a breakdown, tear up the rose, and scream out to the sky. Like Jinx, he becomes a symbol— the Phantom, and not a man; she’s the Savior of Zaun, and not a real, breathing person. Like how the Phantom’s mask is symbolic and feared, Jinx’s blue hair is distinctive and inspires Zaunites. They both were once traumatized young kids, saved.. but not really saved. Erik was taken to the opera house by Madame Giry as an older teen, and young Powder taken in by Silco. They both kill people due to thinking them similar to those who traumatized them— Jinx kills a Firelight who looks like Vi, and the man who exploited young Erik as the “Devil’s Child” looks an awful lot like Joseph Buquet, who Erik kills.

And come on.. they both have the thing with those creepy monkey cymbal toy things! For Erik, he keeps the monkey toy as a reminder of his childhood, as it was something he made, while Jinx also made a monkey bomb as a kid, and used the monkey as her symbol or calling card.

Jinx is rescued from her suicide attempt from Ekko. Christine saves Erik from going off the deep end just by showing him compassion.. the same compassion Ekko gives to Jinx which talks her down from killing herself.

So imagine this. Phantom!Jinx and Christine!Ekko. Work with me here, okay?

“Pitiful creature of darkness.. what kind of life have you known?”

“God give me courage to show you..”

“You are not alone.”

[operas-phantom]

What a nice chandelier you have there.

Would be a shame if someone

broke it

or knocked it over.

[hannah-lou]

I edited it so you can only hear his voice 🤭

He's so hypnotising 😫🫦😍

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Hi, me again! Back at it with another fic request: (Sorry if it’s too overwhelming, know that there’s no rush — all good things take time!)

How would Erik react to the reader having a celebrity crush? Maybe a writer, or another singer who we’ve seen from the newspapers, and how we comfort him and soothe his insecurities over time, because this won’t be a one-time incident. Please, please, please make it a relatively long fic IF POSSIBLE, if not —- thank you so much, anyway!!

yandere erik destler (poto) x reader

tags/warnings- yandere erik, kinda intense, erik is insecure and obsessive, if you are with someone irl who acts like this please leave!!

word count-1110

The first time Erik notices it, he barely acknowledges the shift in his mood. A simple comment from you, offhanded and innocent, about a writer whose latest work you had found utterly mesmerising. Perhaps a mere sentence on how their prose wove a world so rich that you felt as though you had been pulled inside of it, cradled by the poetry of their words. You had spoken with such admiration, such a glimmer in your eyes, that Erik had found himself momentarily frozen.

His reaction had been quiet, at first. A soft hum, a brief nod, but the unease settled inside him like an ember waiting for the right breath of air to ignite into an inferno. That night, he had gone to his study, pouring over every mention of the writer, every article and interview, absorbing the knowledge with a sharp hunger. He dissected their face, their words, their presence in the world you so loved.

His fingers twitched.

Erik did not sleep.

The next incident was far less subtle.

"I just think it's incredible how his voice carries so much emotion," you mused aloud, staring at the newspaper article in your hands. "He's truly a master of expression."

The room chilled with Erik’s silence.

You had been seated comfortably on the settee, lost in admiration for a singer whose performances had been praised in every major publication. Erik, however, stood motionless, his gloved hands gripping the edge of his chair with a force that turned his knuckles white beneath the fabric.

"You admire him." His voice was quiet, yet the weight of his words was suffocating.

You blinked up at him. "Yes, of course. He's talented."

The sound of a deep exhale filled the space between you. "Talented. And yet, you fawn over him as though he is something divine."

You frowned. "Erik, that’s not—"

"Tell me," he interrupted, stepping forward. "Do you wish for him to sing to you? Do you imagine his voice filling this house instead of mine?"

You hesitated. His shoulders tightened. The mask on his face, usually an impassive shield, seemed to betray the sheer turmoil behind it.

"That is absurd," you said, shaking your head. "I admire his talent, but my love—my heart—is yours."

The tension in the room coiled tighter. Erik's golden eyes darkened, a mix of jealousy and something far more dangerous swirling within them. He reached out, grasping your wrist with an almost desperate gentleness.

"Then say it again," he murmured. "Tell me that he means nothing. That no artist, no singer, no poet could ever hold a candle to me."

You exhaled slowly, understanding now. Erik's mind was a labyrinth of insecurities, a twisted thing born from years of rejection and self-loathing. He had spent a lifetime cast aside, yearning for devotion but expecting abandonment.

You took his hand, pressing it against your cheek. "No one could ever replace you. Not in my eyes. Not in my heart."

His breathing hitched. You could feel the possessiveness thrumming beneath his skin, the hunger to hear these words over and over again. It wouldn’t end here. This would not be the last time his jealousy flared, the last time he drowned in the fear of losing you to the idea of someone else.

The pattern repeated itself over and over. A mere comment, an offhanded admiration, and Erik’s mood would shift into something brooding and possessive. He would retreat into the shadows of his mind, analyzing, dissecting, obsessing. There were nights where you would wake to find him standing at the foot of the bed, staring at you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"Do you dream of him?" he would whisper.

The first time he asked, you were half-asleep, confused and disoriented. "What?"

"That man whose voice you praised. Do you dream of him instead of me?"

You sighed and reached for his hand. "No, Erik. I only dream of you."

It was exhausting, in a way, to constantly reaffirm what should have been obvious. And yet, you did it anyway, because you knew that Erik’s mind was a fragile thing. The moment he felt he was not the center of your world, he unraveled.

One evening, you returned home to find your bookshelves nearly empty. Panic gripped you as you searched through the house, your heart pounding. When you reached Erik’s study, you found them.

Stacked in a pile on the floor, some torn, some defaced—ink smeared across the names of authors you had once admired.

Erik sat in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was waiting for you.

"What have you done?" you whispered, horrified.

"I removed the distractions." His voice was eerily calm. "These words—these men—you let them linger in your mind far too often."

Anger flared in you. "Erik, that was unnecessary! I loved those books!"

His lips curled into a humorless smile. "And do you love me more?"

Your breath caught. The sheer desperation in his voice struck you like a blade to the heart.

You exhaled, forcing yourself to calm down. "Yes, Erik. Always. But you cannot destroy the things I love just because you feel threatened by them."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I can. And I will."

It took weeks to soothe him after that. Gentle reassurances, whispered words of devotion, soft touches that grounded him in reality. You let him hold you in the quiet hours of the night, feeling the possessive way his hands clung to you, as if afraid you might slip away.

The final test of his control came when you were invited to a gathering at the opera house. You had been hesitant to go, knowing how Erik would react, but he insisted on accompanying you.

The moment you entered, his eyes on your form burned as he watched from the shadows, he followed you—men, admiring and intrigued, offering pleasantries. Erik saw them all as threats.

When you stopped to speak with a composer whose work you had long admired, Erik’s patience snapped.

"Enough." His voice was low, dark, brimming with possessiveness and he whispered from the shadows

"Erik—"

"you are leaving."

You barely had time to protest before he was leading you away, his grip unrelenting. The moment you stepped outside, he pinned you against the carriage, his breath hot against your skin.

"Never again," he murmured. "I will not share your admiration with another."

His lips found yours in a searing kiss, claiming, demanding. You melted into him, understanding now that Erik was a man who would never be satisfied with mere love—he needed obsession, devotion, submission.

And so, you gave it to him. Whispering his name, promising him everything he desired, until he was finally—if only momentarily—satisfied.

[rosiebeetle]

Sometimes I believe my brain hates me because I was having a amazing dream about me as christine and my boyfriend as the phantom during the phantom of the opera and music of the night song and it was beautiful and loving BUT THEN AT THE CRESCENDO OF MUSIC OF THE NIGHT I WOKE UP I HATE THIS!!

I need card money so I comm somebody to draw me and my bf as them..

[dissociativewriter]

Once Upon Another Time

Love and Deepspace x Phantom of the Opera

Pairing: Sylus x Christine (OC) x Caleb

wc: 1.9k

cw: implied murder, nothing bad really happens in this part, maybe actual murder eventually, consensual kidnapping (?) eventually, probably angst eventually; not proofread; no beta we die like Josephine

Synopsis: A singer at the opera house, Christine is faced with a Colonel from a childhood she barely remembers and a mysterious figure, called the Opera Ghost, who seems to know all the secrets of the opera house and beyond. Stuck between life above and below the opera house, Christine attempts to balance her care for the two men with her budding career in opera. Unfortunately, it seems neither man will settle for half of Christine’s love.

author’s note: I’ve had this idea in my head for a while and finally decided to write it! I’m currently planning on this having about 15 parts, but that’s not definite. I hope someone likes this idea as much as I do.

art found on Pinterest (springstorm art & sesame fruit)

Series Masterlist

1- Overture

The chatter of the crowd echoed in the concert hall as Christine peeked out from behind the curtain. She twisted the rings on her fingers, glancing around at the hundreds of people waiting expectantly. The corset to her elaborate costume gown suddenly felt too tight, leaving Christine gasping as if a weight were on her chest. Two warm hands on her shoulders helped to steady her.

“Careful there, cutie. Wouldn’t want you to pass out right before your big performance.” The playful tone of her coworker helped to ease her breathing, but she couldn’t escape the worry when she looked in his eyes.

“Rafayel… what if I can’t do it? All these people are waiting to hear me.” She pointed to herself in disbelief. “Me? I can’t help but feel like they’ll be disappointed.”

Rafayel’s brows drew together, the gaze in his deep sunrise-like eyes hardening as he turned her around to face him. “Hey, hey, none of that. You wouldn’t be here, about to go on stage if you weren’t talented. Do you hear me?” He leaned down a little, making sure he was eye level so she couldn’t look away. Seeing a smile tug at the corners of her lips, he eased his grip a bit. “Besides, if you’re panicking, who’s going to comfort me? I have to go on after you, how am I supposed to match that?”

Christine rolled her eyes, the comfort of their bantering lessening her panic. “Please, Raf, you sound like a siren.” She crossed her arms, raising a brow. “Sometimes I think you might actually be one.”

“Who knows, cutie, maybe I am. I’m just waiting to lure you in so you’ll fall in love with me.” A grin played in his lips as his hands dropped to his sides. He stepped closer, nudging her with his shoulder. “Is it working?”

Christine laughed, nudging him back. “Not quite. You’ll have to work harder than that.” She reached a hand out, smoothing out a resilient strand in Rafayel’s hair.

“You know, I think it’s working more than you’d like to admit. Just look at you, dying to touch me.” He dramatically held the back of his hand to his forehead, dropping his head back and sighing. “Although I don’t blame you, I am so charming and handsome. Admit it, you’re in love with me!”

“As if!” Christine shoved his back, moving to step past him before he could catch her. He stumbled with a loud yelp.

“Ouch! I’ve fallen, won’t someone help me? I didn’t realize you were so heartless, Christine! How could you just leave me like this after ruthlessly throwing me to the ground?” The sounds of Rafayel’s monologue faded as Christine stepped back into the dressing room, the door softly clicking shut behind her. She walked to the mirror, faced with a reflection she hardly recognized. Stage makeup and detailed costuming made her seem like an entirely different person. She searched for something in her appearance, anything to assure her that she was still Christine, that that wouldn’t go away even if she made her way onto the stage. She finally settled on her eyes. Yes, her eyes. Something distinctly hers, something they couldn’t take away, something they couldn’t hide no matter how many layers of blush.

Christine let out a shaky breath as she smoothed a wrinkle in her white ball gown. It was a beautiful dress, far better than Christine felt deserving to wear. She straightened her back, taking one final look before turning to exist the dressing room.

She was met with mutterings around the corner, hushed whispers of something too concerning to discuss in normal tones. She glanced over, taking note of the silver, starlight-like hair of the tall man she recognized as Xavier. Christine carefully crept behind him, making sure to be as quiet as possible so she could find out why security had to report to the one of the opera house’s most important patrons the night of her big performance.

“…Monsieur Andre, I really don’t think it will be an issue. The Opera Ghost may be a frightening figure, but there shouldn’t be any real issue. If that’s all he is, a ghost, then there’s not much he can do to the audience or performers, and even less we can do to him.” Xavier attempted a reassuring smile as he continued on. “Rest assured, if any issues arise, I’ll be quick to take care of it.”

“I trust you, Xavier, I do. But the Phantom of the Opera has reaches far beyond your own, and I’m afraid he may strike tonight with so many important guests!” Andre took out his handkerchief, wiping the sweat from his brow before imploring the guard, “Please, Xavier, at least stay close by Box 5. You don’t have to go in, I wouldn’t want you to anger the Phantom, but keep an eye on it?” To this, Xavier nodded grimly.

How odd, Christine noted, that Xavier is brushing off the Opera Ghost so easily. He, if anyone, believes the legend most fervently; it’s the entire reason he began to work as a guard for the opera house. He wanted to investigate, see if the tales of terrified party-goers and aristocrats were true. Looking at his face, though, Christine realized: that wasn’t a man unworried, but a man hiding something.

“Christine! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” The strong voice of Talia cut through Christine’s thoughts, simultaneously striking anxiety into her heart. There was nothing more alarming than the older woman seeking her out personally. “Rafayel keeps whining about something or other about you, we need to make final preparations before your song, and I wanted to make sure your costume was alright.” Before she could protest, Christine was pulled along behind Talia, a firm hand gripping her wrist as she stumbled through the preparations on stage right. Nearing backstage, Christine heard a bit of Rafayel, leaning against a stage prop, holding his makeup artist hostage as he moaned and groaned about how no one respected him anymore.

Ducking her head, she increased her pace with Talia, hoping to dodge the impassioned singer. He caught sight of her, however, and quickly rushed off to catch up with her, leaving his makeup artist scrambling after him, brush in hand.

“Christine! Hold on,” He panted behind them, struggling to catch up as Talia sped up. “A little fishie like me can’t handle this! All this stress you’re putting on me is too much. And some of the chorus girls said they heard something up in the rafters! You don’t think it’s the opera ghost, do you?”

“Rafayel, I’ve told you before, there’s no such thing as the opera ghost! You need to stop encouraging the chorus girls,” Talia grumbled, shaking her head. She abruptly stopped in her tracks, dropping Christine’s hand. “Both of you, behave!” she whispered over her shoulder. She took a proud step forward opening her arms welcomingly. “Colonel! What a wonderful surprise! What brings you to our humble opera house?” She smiled politely, her hands dropping to clasp over her abdomen.

“Madame Talia, so nice to see you!” The Colonel turned, a small smile on his face as he greeted her. He was impossibly tall, imposing, his uniform as crisp and clean as his conversation. “I decided to stop by after I heard such wonderful things of this upcoming performance.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, as if he were going to share a great secret with Talia. “And who knows, maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of this ‘Opera Ghost’ I’ve heard so much about.” He straightened up, noticing the two singers behind Talia, and offered a nod in greeting. His eyes stopped briefly upon seeing Christine, a flicker of some almost-familiar emotion passing through his violet eyes before disappearing as he turned his focus back to Talia.

Christine shifted on her feet uncomfortably, feeling seen in a way she hadn’t in a long time, as if this strange colonel knew something about her that even she didn’t. She leaned over to Rafayel, whispering as Talia and the Colonel talked, “Who is that?”

Rafayel blinked at her for a moment, hesitating as he searched for something in her eyes. “He’s the Farspace Fleet Colonel, and the youngest one they’ve had.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t have a crush on him, do you?”

Christine’s cheeks flushed slightly. “What? No, he just—” she sighed wistfully. “He seems familiar, somehow.” She gave him one final glance before turning around to make her way to the stage. Her feet moved quickly, trying to shake off the feeling of eyes on her back as something from a past long gone nipped at her heels. She found her usual spot, the corner of the stage where the heavy velvet curtain met aged brick. Christine sighed, observing the hundreds of faces before her.

From the seats close to the orchestra pit, to the seats high in the boxes along the walls, it seemed every seat was filled. Every seat, that was, except for Box 5. The Opera Ghost’s box. That was something Talia was adamant about: Box 5 belonged to the opera ghost, so no one should be sat there. Of course, there had been a few eager, inexperienced stage hands or entitled, high-ranking members of society who thought that was ridiculous. Why should the best seat in the house be left empty for a ghost?

Those people were never found.

Christine never believed in the legend of the opera ghost. She’d always assumed it was something the tired organizers of events at the opera house told newcomers so they wouldn’t meddle. Whatever the chorus girls would hear in the rafters, well, it may have well been mice.

But now, as Christine observed the audience before her, she couldn’t help but notice Box 5. The seats were empty, of course, the box kept impeccably clean. Not a single seat or cobweb out of place. There was something off tonight, though. Maybe it was just because it was her first night performing, maybe it was just jitters, or maybe she was right and there was someone in Box 5! The privacy curtains were blowing slightly, and Christine knew for a fact that there was no draft in any of the boxes. She couldn’t see much else, courtesy of dim lighting and the distance, but Christine’s eyes were drawn to a glowing crimson. What she saw, she didn’t know, and it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

She stayed for a moment longer, waiting to see something, anything. The lights dimmed even more then, though, a cue for Christine to get into place and the audience to quiet down. She heard the scurrying footsteps of last-minute additions and changes, the pressured voices of costume designers and singers alike. Christine took a final breath before moving onto the main stage, taking her spot at the very center.

When the curtains rose, Christine tried to keep her cool through the blinding lights and loud applause of the audience. It was different, she realized, to be in front of an audience instead of just observing one. She stood proudly, back straight as Talia had told her, waiting for the orchestra to begin her song. She looked at the boxes again, something deep in her gut drawing her to them again and again. Christine felt her mouth go dry as her eyes moved through the opera house, catching on a curiously familiar flash of violet, and a much more unnervingly familiar flash of crimson.

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masterlist

[megthegiry]

Whose hair is the most LONGEST hair in the opera house?

RAOUL : My hair is long and healthy.

MEG : My hair is longer than yours, Raoul! AND Christine likes that!

MY MOTHER : Girls, stop. My hair is longer than your future.

MEG : 😔

Meanwhile, he's not there, the Phantom of the Opera.