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Born Ugly: book Two	By : KassandraRamsey Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 1616 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 2
- 3
Chapter 2: Erik’s Christine

I rode the school bus home with Margo Friday after school, prepared to stay the whole weekend. I felt guilty about leaving my dad, but he had people to look after him, and when I was home, I was just in the way. Besides, ever since I had signed up to audition for the ballet, I’d had an intense desire to get the part.

It was on Friday that I finally understood my weird feelings about this ‘Erik’.

I remembered him the moment I laid eyes on him.

Erik was Daniel.

He looked as shocked as I felt.

He was taller than I remembered, but he had the same amber eyes and dark brown hair. He had traded in his flesh-colored face prosthetic for a white mask that covered half of his face.

I remembered what was under it.

“Erik, this is my best friend Dorothy,” Margo said, completely oblivious to the fact that we recognized each other.

“Dorothy, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, giving me a significant look as he raised my hand to his lips and placed a kiss on it.

I blushed and Margo giggled at us.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Erik,” I said, raising my eyebrows at him.

He mouthed the word ‘later’ while Margo called for her grandmother.

After I was settled in Margo’s room, we changed into our leotards and headed down to the basement where Erik lived.

“Come see, Dorothy! This was my birthday present from Erik last month,” she said, pulling me toward a door on the back wall of his study.

I was shocked to see the room that lay behind it. It was a full-sized dance studio. Complete with ballet bar, hardwood floors, and mirrored walls.

Erik was seated at a piano on the far side of the room, absently playing as he watched my reaction.

I smiled at him.

“It’s lovely,” I said.

He smiled back and nodded, but it was Margo that said, “Thank you!”

We started warming up, and then Erik played ‘The Nutcracker Suite’. He played so beautifully that I had to concentrate extra hard to keep from just stopping to listen.

We worked up quite a sweat, and Margo was a very patient teacher. I really felt like I’d danced better than I ever had before. Though that wasn’t saying much.

We had to stop when Margo’s grandma called us for dinner, but after three hours of practicing, I was more than ready for a break.

Erik wouldn’t let us practice right after we ate.

“Watch TV for a while and let your stomach settle,” he said, earning an eye-roll from Margo.

I laughed at her, and we settled down in the living room to watch Beauty and the Beast, Margo’s favorite movie.

We both fell asleep about ten minutes into the movie.

I awoke to the sound of a violin a little after midnight.

“Daddy?” I whispered, and then shook my head.

It couldn’t be my father; I was over at Margo’s house. It had to be Erik.

I glanced over at Margo, who was lightly snoring into a pillow, and got on my feet.

I had some questions to ask Erik, and I got the impression that he didn’t want Margo to know about them.

I tiptoed down the basement stairs, smiling as I lost myself in the gentle sound of the violin.

It wasn’t until he stopped playing that I realized I had gone through his study and into his bedroom, curling up on the floor by his feet.

I blushed and quickly stood, backing away a little.

“You play very beautifully,” I said, feeling uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

“Thanks. You’re not a very good dancer,” he said.

Hearing that from anyone else would have made me cry, but when he said it, I laughed.

“I know, I’m terrible. I just do it so I can be with Margo,” I admitted.

He nodded and said, “She’s very fond of you.”

“I like her a lot too.”

A silence descended, and it felt like each of us were unsure of what to say.

“Will you play some more?” I asked, nodding at his violin.

“You like the violin more than the piano?” he asked.

“Yes. My father plays…Well, he used to play before he got sick. Sometimes, I’d even sing along,” I said, feeling tears sting at my eyes.

“If I play, will you sing along?” he asked, watching me carefully.

Sing? In front of a stranger? What if he didn’t like my voice?

I ducked my head and shook it.

“Oh, come on. No one will hear but me,” he said reassuringly.

“Do you know ‘Silent Night’?” he asked, resting the violin under his chin.

I nodded, and he began playing the introduction.

He paused when it was time for me to start singing, and I did, shakily. My voice wavered on the first few words, but soon the old familiar carol reinstated itself in my mind and I became lost in the music. I was in the middle of the second verse before I realized that he was no longer playing.

“Don’t stop!” he commanded, and I continued on, staring in awe at the tears rolling down his cheeks.

When I was done, he grabbed my hands in his and placed them on his chest over his heart. It was beating very quickly.

“Thank you. That was incredible, Christine,” he whispered.

I pulled my hands away and took a step back.

“Dorothy. My name is Dorothy,” I told him. I was very confused.

“For now,” he said, putting the violin back in its case.

“When I met you in the hospital, you said your name was Daniel,” I blurted out suddenly.

He turned to look at me, eyes glowing eerily in the semi-darkness of his room.

“Yes, I did. But then you called me, ‘Erik’, remember?”

I thought back to that night. Yes, I did remember calling him that after I took off his mask. It had just popped into my head. Even now, I couldn’t say why I did it, and told him as much.

“You called me Erik, because I am Erik. Daniel was just what I was called. Just as you are Christine, though at the moment you are called Dorothy,” he said, matter-of-factly.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes sleepily.

“I don’t understand.”

He gave me a knowing smile.

“It is okay, Christine. You will understand in time.”

“Please don’t call me that. My name is Dorothy,” I insisted.

He looked at me pensively for a moment.

“Fine. How about a nickname then? Angel, because you sing like one,” he said, finally.

I blushed at the compliment, but nodded in assent.

End Chapter 2
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Born Ugly: book Two