Prologue
He was just a man.
Stunned into silent shock, Christine Daae stared up at the lean, dark figure who brought her down here. Here, to this strange place. To this underground world.
He had been a voice - a radiant, magnificent voice but just a voice nevertheless - for so many months. When she was at her darkest point, drowning in grief following her father’s death, the voice had saved her.
She had called him an angel, her Angel of Music. She knew he was not an Angel, if she was going to be completely honest with herself, she had to admit that, but he had not quite been a man either. He barely seemed real.
But with only his voice, he gave her back her own. She had never thought to sing again, she had thought she never had any talent at all. And then, with his guidance, she triumphed, in two different performances. She was on her way to being a star of the Opera Garnier. She had reunited with her oldest friend; she was happy at last...
And then, her oldest friend – in his completely well-intentioned but as she thought at the time, completely misguided, desire to protect her – had threatened to rupture her dream. To bring everything she had achieved to an end.
Frantic then, she had begged the voice to become real. To take her away. And he had done so, and now, she learned what he was.
He was just a man. A deformed, masked man, who had betrayed her. She could not forget that. He listened as her misery threatened to tear apart, as she cursed her father and his stories, and spoke to her.
He never let her see him, he never let her know the truth of who he was or how he came to be aware of her. He must have watched her for months, all without her knowledge. All of that was true.
And yet, there were other truths as well. Everything she had achieved, everything she had become, she owed to him. In the moment of raw disbelief at her surroundings, she had to be honest about that too. Without him, none of this would have happened.
She had unmasked him, she had awakened a side of him she knew he never wanted her to see and she did not think she could ever forget it. He was ashamed now, she could see that. And she was not hurt, but she did not know that she could live with this new reality either.
He had offered to take her back, his tall form proud even as those strange, pale green eyes brimmed with shame, and she did not have to wonder if she would ever hear his voice again. She knew she never would. But, was that what she truly wanted? She did not know.
“You still have not told me who you are.” She said instead. And he answered.
“Erik,” he said. “My name is Erik.”
