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"It… It is time, my dear. Please… Just please no crying." As he says those very words, you choke back a sob.

"Y-yes Papa. I will not cry." He pats your hand, eyes crinkling as he asks you a very strange question.

"Are you afraid?" You are taken aback and are not sure whether to answer truthfully or not. But after a moment you decide honesty would be best in these final moments.

"I am very afraid. Yes. What will I do without you, Papa?"

"Now now, don't fret, my lovely daughter, for I will send an angel of music to look after you. I… I love you, my dear…" He squeezes your hand, before it slips from your grasp. You can feel that his soul is gone. He shall play fantastical music that inspires awe no more. This great man, your beloved father, now reduced to loose cloth hanging over old bones, is gone. But he left with you a comfort. Beautiful and mysterious and odd. But a comfort nonetheless.

~~~***~~~

'Finally', you think, 'It is over. This show is done and I now have time to practice my own singing again.' After the last performer in this opera that your Parisian Opera house put on has left, you sink down on the stage, skirts splaying our around you. It feels impossibly wonderful to give your tired feet a rest, and you look around you, marveling at this place you have grown to love. And then, just as you had hoped, the voice comes to you.

"[y/n], vhy do you sit around? You should be practicing! Zhis time is perfect for uninterrupted practice, vhich you sorely need!" This voice, this powerful and bossy-in-command yet kind voice, has taught you to sing.

"I know," you say softly. "But I am tired, and it is late. Won't you allow me to rest for a while?" You also believe this voice to belong to your angel.

"No. You can rest later, [y/n]. Just do a little today, ja? Ja." You sigh, but stand once more. As he has taught you, you stand tall and straight, resting a hand lightly over your diaphragm, before beginning. These low notes start soft, but your voice grows in pitch and volume as you near the highest, most difficult part, your angel's soft encouragements and tips floating into your ears, when suddenly the door backstage swings open, letting in the cold of outside. You whirl around, stepping back, only to see none other than Francis Bonnefoy.

"I knew I would find you 'ere, ma cherie!" He cheers in that endearing French accent, whilst striding over to you and lifting you up by the waist and twirling you around.

"Mr. Bonnefoy, put me down this instant!" You giggle. He complies, only to take your hand into his, lifting it to his lips. His deep blue eyes flick up to meet yours, and he laughs, "Ohohohon, ma cherie, your cheeks flush as lovely as a rose. Will you still not be mine?" In your mind, you feel as though you hear a slight growl, before brushing it off.

"Mr. Bonnefoy, you know that that wouldn't be appropriate without the proper permission first. I love you, Francis, but you must go…"

"As you wish, ma cherie, my sweet [y/n]. Until zhen." You receive a swift kiss to the cheek, and then he is gone. But no sooner than the door closes behind him, does there come an irritated huff.

"Vhy do you do zhat? Vhy do you allow him to do zhat? He… he interrupts your vork, and ozher important zhings!" Before he can say any more, you interrupt. "He is my childhood swee… friend. I cannot simply just ignore him… Or God forbid leave him! Don't tell me that you are jealous, Phantom?" He doesn't reply. You hear absolutely no sounds. You wait long enough that you are ready to just go home, when a hand covers your mouth and an arm wraps around your waist. This person is unfamiliar, and they lead you back into the darkness of the Opera house. Once you reach a part that even you find unfamiliar, he uncovers your mouth only to get a good grip on your wrist, managing to stay in front of you, his face out of sight.

"Who are you?" you exclaim as you tug against his hold. But your attempts are futile, panic making you desperate and weak, especially compared to his fit, athletic build.

"I am zhe Phantom whom you seem to have become so fascinated wizh."

"Wh-where are you bringing me? Why?"

"You don't need to know zhe answers to eizher of zhose questions. You vill be obedient, or I will kill zhat damn Francis Bonnefoy!" All thoughts whirring in your brain stop at those words. You cannot allow him to kill your love. After that, you don't focus. You just think how you are so tired, and so afraid, and the next thing you know, you are asleep.

~~~***~~~

When you awake, you brush [h/l] [h/c] hair out of your face with your hands, [e/c] eyes still blurry from sleep. You blink a few times, only to find a man sitting at the foot of the bed. An unfamiliar man and an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. You do what is natural: scream. His pale blue eyes widen and he practically has a heart attack just trying to get you to calm down. Finally, when you see that you are unharmed and he has not done anything disturbing to you, you unfold yourself from where you curled up on the farthest corner of the large downy mattress, and he relaxes.

"So… I see zhat you are avake…" He attempts. You say nothing, but begin drinking in his appearance. As you noticed last night, he is very well built. He has icy blue eyes, and slicked back blonde hair. A white mask covers half of his face.

"A-are you the angel?" You ask tentatively. He looks confused, and replies, "Angel? I am no angel. I am a monster. An angel… Ha! Vhat angel vould kidnap a girl, and request her to marry him?"

"M-marry?! What are you talking about?"

"Ah yes. You vish you keep your dear Mr. Bonnefoy safe, yes? Vell, my request is zhat you marry me. After zhat zhere vill be no problem!"

"N-no… That's… that's… that's despicable! Phantom, why are you doing this? I thought that you cared about my music… I thought that…"

"You thought zhat I vouldn't kidnap zhe girl I love? Vell, you are wrong. I clearly will. And yes, I am doing zhis because you… You, [y/n] [l/n], are my love." You can see that familiar stubborn as an ox personality shining through in Phantom, even now, and it makes you tremble in fear. He will not let you go. He will either not let you go, or your own love will die. And you will do anything to protect those whom you love.

~~~***~~~

A gown of white silk hangs down to your feet, a bouquet of wilted flowers in your hands. You wear no makeup to disguise your [s/c] skin, nothing to manipulate the [e/c] of your eyes. And then the music begins. You stand tall with chin held high, but no smile appears on your lips. With every step forward you take, you get closer to him. The Angel of Music that your father promised would take care of you. With every step you take, you see his frown grow deeper and deeper. You are confused. Why is this Phantom not happy? He is getting what he wants, is he not? But he stops everything. His fingers leave the keys of the organ and he just looks up at you, scowling. You gaze back down at him, still unsure of what is happening, and how you should react.

Finally, he makes a sound of disgust. "I cannot do zhis! I cannot! You are miserable and I can see zhat. Just go. Go!" You jump at his booming voice, but do not hesitate. The flowers are out of your hands and on the floor, and as you run out the door, the world melts around you until you are left in all darkness.

~~~***~~~

You gasp awake, heart pounding furiously in your chest. Your hands twist in the sheets, and you do not only calm down, but let out a relieved sigh when you see the ring still safely on your finger. Glancing beside you, you can see the outline of where Francis was, and you can still feel the warmth when you lay your hand there. Deciding that you will get up and find out what the spontaneous man - your husband - is up to, you stand, only to step upon a small piece of paper on the floor. You bend down and pick it up, slowly unfolding the parchment. A part of you already knows what it is. Another wishes to write it off as another horrible dream. But you cannot ignore the dread that grows stronger in your heart with every word you read.

Your Phantom will get what he wants, after all.