Chapter 3… Phantomness is tired… stupid writer’s block…
Disclaimer: Pokemon belongs to Nintendo and Shogakukan Comics. This non-profit, non-copyright infringing fanfiction belongs to me under international copyright laws and taking it is plagiarism. Thank you. *Phantomness bows*
Notes: <> for telepathy, ** for thoughts, italics if a pokemon talks
Additionally, Phantom of the Opera belongs to… er; Gaston Leroux as original author, and the musical belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber, the book Phantom belongs to Susan Kay, the book Angel of the Opera to Sam Siliciano… I think that’s all I drew from…
Chapter 3
“We never said, our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea, but please promise me that sometime, you will think of me!”
The last strain of the magnificent aria floated away. The house rose en masse, clapping, congratulations… bouquets of flowers showered down upon the stage…
“Brilliant.” Brock breathed. “It has to be her. I wonder if she remembers me?” His younger brother, Timothy, was busy flirting with one of the ballet-girls. He sighed.
“I’ll go pay her a visit then…”
As soon as she got backstage, Ashline’s strength gave out and she collapsed…
Brock raced down the halls, finding her by virtue of asking everyone where Ashline’s dressing room was. He was shown in, as they assumed he had some reason for seeing the opera-singer. He found her lying on the divan, a maid standing by, the opera doctor examining her. She was just coming out of her faint…
“Little Ash!” Brock cried.
The girl’s brown eyes focused on him at last. “Do I know you?”
Brock smiled. “Do you remember the boy who ran into the sea to fetch your lost scarf, mademoiselle?”
Ashline began to laugh. So did the doctor and the maid. Brock looked confused, before offense took over.
“I see you do not remember. I will go now.” He said, and coldly exited.
A few minutes later, the doctor left. He found Brock still standing by the door. “She’s quite well, just had a shock, a little rest and she’ll be all better, so don’t you worry.” And then came the maid, smiling.
“She wants to be left alone,” with a saucy wink.
To be left alone? Brock’s heart jumped. She wanted to be left alone for him! Oh, it was perfect…
Of course! She wouldn’t acknowledge liking him with witnesses present, but if they were alone…
Brock’s heartbeat began to race as he began to open the door, but suddenly he froze. He had heard a voice, a male voice, in the room!
“How are you faring, dear child?”
“Oh, tonight I gave you my soul and I am dead,” Ashline’s voice, breathily whispered…
Brock’s heart clenched. Who… who…
“You soul is a beautiful thing, child…” Softer, soft, so soft, but for all its softness, it remained a male voice… “The angels wept tonight…”
There was no more conversation, and so Brock was surprised when Ashline emerged from the room no more than two minutes later, a heavy cloak over her shoulders. She was obviously heading home…
But where was her male companion?
It made no sense. Ashline obviously had been talking to someone. Brock waited until her footsteps had slowed, then flung the door open. The only place to hide was the closet, and all he found in there were dressing-gowns and simple costumes, a dress… he checked under the wardrobe even though there was only an inch or so of space beneath, even lifted the divan – nothing!
“Look here, am I going mad?” He asked.
There was no reply.
Brock frowned. Perhaps… perhaps he had misheard… not satisfied, but feeling as if continuous searching would yield nothing useful, he left in a huff.
The next morning, he was back, in his role as a patron of the arts. He found Ashline alone in her room, practicing her scales…
“Ashline!”
Ash’s eyes were closed as she hummed, and the beauty of her voice struck him again. Of course he had heard her last night, but…
This was different. She wasn’t performing, just practicing, and she was simply wonderful…
“Ashline!”
She seemed not to hear him, the scales continued to flow from her lips, but something… something seemed off, her posture a bit stiff…
He reached to grasp her arm, shake her from this trance, and…
What he touched was not flesh, but cold… metal? Marble? Whatever it was, it wasn’t human…
He gasped and then there was pressure, and then his eyes closed and he fell over in a dead faint…
“Annoying.” Lance said, unloosing the Punjab Lasso with a flick of his fingers. “Rude, too, barging into a singer’s dressing-room like this. It’s lucky her lessons don’t take place here anymore. Hmm… and I suppose this automaton is no use in the future…”
Can we eat him, Master?
“Oh, I promised Karen no more murders, so no, not yet, not unless he destroys things further… perhaps… oh, I ought not to worry, he’s young and handsome and quite rich and eligible, and I daresay half the ballet-girls are already running after him! Perhaps he’ll like one of them instead….”
Vicious….
“Not quite, not quite. He’s the playboy, aristocratic type, I daresay one woman won’t be enough to satisfy him, and perhaps she’ll be able to forgive him for cheating, but perhaps not…”
Ashline slumbered, unaware, in the room he had prepared for her in the house on the banks of the underground lake. Grandma Agatha knew – knew that the angel was only a man, but she didn’t care, oh no. She only wanted Ashline to be happy…
And besides, hadn’t Ashline asked him, time and again, if he’d like a wife, being as if he were mortal?
Of course he would.
He wanted her quite badly...
Lance adjusted the cords that held his mask in place, nodding. He’d be careful – make sure she didn’t remove it. After all, he still exerted quite powerful influence over her. And as long as she didn’t see his face…
It would work…
Ashline woke up to find herself on a lovely bed, shaped like a Venetian gondola, spread over with crimson counterpane worked in gold flourishes…
Where was she?
She carefully got up, and checked the two doors. One was a sumptuous wardrobe, full of beautiful clothes, jewelry, and a dressing-mirror and table… the other door led to a Turkish bath done in pink marble….
Wow…
It did not quite occur to her to be frightened, the little innocent.
“Am I in heaven?”
Had she died in her sleep the night before, after the performance? Had the Angel of music taken her to heaven?
She bathed luxuriously in the bathroom, changed into a gown worked in white silk, found several books of fairy-tales and began to peruse. She felt oddly at peace…
There was no way out of the room that she could see, but she didn’t worry about that for now…
A soft tapping startled her from her thoughts. She cautiously looked around, and then gasped as a portion of the wall swung inwards…
A man stood there, or was he a man? A white mask covered his face, and he wore black evening clothes that clung to a lithe frame. In his hands was a tray from which delicious odors wafted. Buttered toast, hot chocolate, fresh berries and cream…
“Who are you?”
“Do you not remember your Angel?” Yes, it was his voice, the angel’s voice…
“Am I in heaven?”
“If you wish it so…”
Did one need to eat in heaven? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything at this place, but she felt happy…
She watched as he set the tray down on her writing desk, and she smiled and helped herself… interesting man. He had eyes like a cat’s, a lovely golden shade, and long, dark red hair, almost black, auburn with a hint of silver-gray…
The food was excellent. She waited until her hunger had been satiated before she asked her next question. “What’s your name?”
A startled glance, before a smile… “Lance.”
“Lance.” She nodded. It was different, and it sounded English…
“How are you feeling?”
She considered it. The fainting spell from last night had passed, a good sleep and bath and food had cured that…
“Wonderful…”
“Excellent.” A sharp smile was given. “I have only two rules while you stay with me, Ashline… first, you must never look beneath my mask, and secondly, do not open the door to the mirrored room. It has a green door.”
Ashline nodded absentmindedly. She could do this. At least now she could see, could… feel, her angel…
Before Lance knew what had happened, she had hugged him tightly. “Thank you. For everything…”
He smiled behind the mask. Perhaps things would be all right then…
End Chapter
Completed 7/29/05
YAY! EVIL PHYSICS CLASS IS OVER! I BETTER HAVE PASSED!
Lance: Fluff leads to angst…
Phantomness: Angst leads to darkfic…
Ash: Darkfic leads to the dark side?
And, on a completely unrelated note, sometimes Ash needs a friend like Gary. Better than mindless screwing anyways. *Phantomness does not support Palletshipping*