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Erik, your Angel of Music had been training you in secret for months. His beautiful baritone voice whispered to you when you felt alone, gently corrected and praised you during voice lessons, sang you to sleep...You didn’t know him face to face…or rather face to mask until recently when after a close almost accident Carlotta dramatically quit and you were thrown in to play her leading role last minute. After that performance you discovered that your angel was actually the opera ghost himself…But really he wasn’t an angel or a phantom at all…He was just a man. A strange, masked, eccentric, brilliant, brutal man…But a man just the same.
He praised you for your voice constantly. Told you it was his greatest joy in his hard, lonely life to hear your voice raised in song. “When you sing I live in the heavens.” He whispered to you one night. “And when you do not…I live down below.”
So you sang. Not now just for yourself or for Paris…but for Erik who watched with adoring eyes from the shadows of box five everynight…
You were the leading lady, the ingenue in all the Operas now. The public was wild about you. Hundreds of bouquets of lush roses were delivered to your dressing room every night, you were getting fanmail and people would stop you on the street asking for autographs!
The Opera Populaire was selling more tickets than ever before. You starring in the leading roles was wonderful for business, so Andre and Firman had the bright idea to have you do more shows…
It seemed like a good idea at the time…But after a week of the extra shows you began to feel fatigued. You hardly had any free time when you weren’t performing or rehearsing now and you were over using your voice singing roles that were already very vocally challenging. then your worst fears came true when you woke up with a sore, dry throat.
You tried everything to remedy it without causing a fuss. You didn’t want to let anyone down. You gargled salt water, took some medicine and did gentle warm up but you still felt and sounded awful.
And soon Erik heard your crying from your dressing room, you saw his white mask glow in the reflection of your mirror, gently opening the secret door there to come to you. You expected reprimands from your voice teacher. You should have known better, you should have been more careful and set better boundaries but he simply wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest, stroking your hair. “Shhh, little angel…” His voice is gentle and sweet. Concerned and doting. “There, there…” He presses his lips to the crown of your head and gently puts his arm around you, tucking you under his velvet black cape, guiding you into the mirror down to his lair.
Very soon you were sitting in Erik’s bed in his lair. You were wearing a beautiful white nightgown he’d sewn for you, your hair loose, soft pillows arranged around your head, silk blankets tucked around you. Erik comforted you until you stopped crying and had firmly insisted that you should stay with him in his lair for a full week to recover. The moisture in the air from the underground river and the privacy would heal you quickly…
He sent a rather threatening letter to Firman and Andre about overworking you, demanding they cancel all the shows in the coming week so you could heal. Carlotta could probably go on but Erik insisted. Either you sang or nobody did.
So here you were. Erik gently cups your cheek and sighs. “Ah…poor little dove…You’ll be better soon. Your angel is guarding you now.” You try to speak but he presses a finger to your lips and gives you a stern look. “Now, now…vocal rest. Remember?” He says, shushing you.
You give him a little frown and nod and he chuckles. The candlelight of the lair reflects off his glossy black hair and porcelain mask illuminating him beautifully. He sighs. “Don’t pout, my darling… You’ll be singing my new opera within a week. You’ll make a fabulous Aminta in my Don Juan.” You keep frowning and he makes a soft tutting sound. “Ah…This is about you having to cancel the shows then?” When you nod he gently strokes an errant lock of hair back. “You’ve let no one down…Nobody in their right mind would be upset with you...You’re a dainty girl you aren’t meant to do more than eight shows a week. It’s cruel of those fools that run my theater to abuse you in such a way. It’s their fault for over working you…Not yours my love.” He gently presses a kiss to your rosy cheeks and smiles when his words seem to comfort and cheer you up a little.
He then reaches down under the nightstand by the bed and smiles. “Now let's see if I can cheer my beautiful dove up some more, hmm?” In his hands Erik has pulled out a beautiful music box. A little painted lead monkey sitting on a velvet red cushion. In his tiny sculpted hands he holds two cymbals, his little face adorable and innocent. Erik looks at it fondly. “This was mine as a boy…one of the only trinkets I was allowed to amuse myself with. It always brought me some happiness when I wasn’t feeling well…Lets see if it has the same effect on you…” He gently winds it up. The monkey’s hands begin to move back and forth gently like he’s playing the cymbals and a soft chiming melody echos in the air. A song you think you heard at the New Years masquerade ball…You can’t help but smile as the music caresses you.
It plays on soft and sweet, soothing you like it must have for Erik all those years ago and he gently remains stroking your hair and cheek, restarting the music box for you when it ends over and over for you until you fall into a sweet, deep sleep. Your voice already mending under an angel of music’s doting care.