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Born Ugly: Book One	By : KassandraRamsey Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 1149 -:- 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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A/N: Again, thanks for the reviews. I got the inspiration for this story from Susan Kay’s Phantom. I highly recommend this book for any POTO fan. It’s amazing!

Chapter Four

In the October of my fourteenth year, my grandmother got sick. It started out as a cold, and quickly turned into the flu and then pneumonia. I took care of her, even going out to buy medicines from the drugstore and the library to check out books about health and medicine.

It only took me a week to determine that she was dying. She was barely fifty, but years of smoking had deteriorated her lungs so badly that she would never recover.

I called the priest, and he took her to the hospital. I don’t like hospitals, so I stayed home.

A man from the government came by the house the next day to take me to a foster home. But I wouldn’t go. I told him that I already had a home, so I didn’t need one. Luckily, the priest arrived and offered to stay with me, for a few days anyway.

The government official wasn’t happy, but he allowed it.

There were no pictures in the house. Not of her, or me, or even her daughter. I awoke late one night deciding that I wanted something to remind me of her.

I snuck out of the house, and walked all the way to the hospital—a good six miles.

The night nurse was sleeping, so I walked right past the nurses’ station and into my grandmother’s room without being noticed.

She was awake and talking to someone I couldn’t see.

“Oh, there you are, Daniel,” she said, looking delighted to see me for the first time in my life.

“Hello Grandmother,” I said, walking to her bedside.

She gave me a sad smile.

“I was afraid you’d miss me. I’m about to leave, you see,” she said, then broke into a fit of coughs.

I handed her a cup of water that was beside the bed, and she sipped it carefully.

“Where are you going?” I asked, slipping my backpack off of my shoulders.

“I’m going with Annie,” she said, gesturing to the empty spot on the other side of her bed.

“Okay. Can I draw your picture first?” I asked, trying not to stare at that space she’d pointed at.

I couldn’t actually see anything there, but I felt it. I knew that my grandmother’s daughter, the woman who had given birth to me, was standing there.

My grandmother looked at ‘Annie’, then turned back to me and nodded.

I settled myself into a chair, and took out a pad and pencil from my backpack and started drawing.

I became so absorbed in my drawing that I didn’t notice the little girl who entered the room and watched over my shoulder.

“That’s so pretty,” she said, and I jumped in my seat at the sound of her voice.

I felt a surge of anger at being interrupted, but when I turned to yell at her, my throat closed on the words, and my lonely heart skipped a beat. The anger vanished as I became lost in the most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen.

“Th-thanks,” I stammered.

Her perfect pink rosebud lips split into a smile, and I felt myself blush as I felt the urge to kiss her. I’d never kissed anyone before in my life, but I’d seen my share of kisses on the television. This was the first time I had ever met anyone that I desired a kiss from.

I immediately felt ashamed for thinking it; she couldn’t be more than three-or-four-years-old, but she had a maturity that was well beyond her years. It was her eyes. The deep blue orbs looked old and wise contrasting greatly with the small body that was young and innocent.

“Is that your mommy?” she asked, looking at the hospital bed.

I blinked. For a moment there, I had forgotten that my dying grandmother was in the room. At first I thought that she was already dead—as her eyes were closed—on closer inspection, I saw that her chest was rising and falling with her uneven breaths.

“No, that’s my grandmother. The woman who gave birth to me is dead,” I told her.

She gave me a confused look, and I sighed.

“My mommy is dead,” I said and saw the dawning comprehension on her young face.

She nodded and gave me a sympathetic look.

“My mommy died when I was a baby,” she told me, looking at the floor.

“Mine too,” I said, unable to stop myself from reaching out to tug at one of her chestnut curls.

She looked back up at me with a grin.

“Maybe they’re friends in heaven together,” she said.

It was such an innocent comment that it almost brought tears to my eyes.

I cleared my throat and started drawing again.

“And why are you here?” I asked, putting the final touches on Grandmother’s face.

“My daddy’s sick. His room is across the hall,” she said, but her voice sounded odd. Almost like she was in a trance.

I looked up to see her staring at the spot where ‘Annie’ was supposed to be.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

She turned to me, then hesitated before speaking.

“I thought I saw a lady standing there, but when I looked again I couldn’t see her anymore,” she said.

“Hmm,” was all I said as I continued drawing.

This girl had a sort of ‘other-worldliness’ to her that I found refreshing to be around.

“What’s your name?” she asked, and I couldn’t stop a wince as I noticed her looking curiously at my face.

“Daniel.”

“My name is Dorothy. Hey, both of our names start with ‘D’”, she said, delighted.

“Mm-hmm.”

For a minute or two, the only sound in the room was that of my pencil scratching the surface of the paper.

She yawned, once again drawing my eyes away from my project.

She was looking at me curiously for a moment, and I braced myself for the inevitable question about my mask. Surprisingly, it never came. She seemed to make up her mind about something, then reached out and grabbed my arm to try and pull herself into my lap.

I was so shocked, I couldn’t move.

“Daniel, help me up,” she commanded, and I automatically obeyed.

My hands let go of the pad and pencil so that I could get a good hold on her, and they hit the floor with a soft thud.

Dorothy curled up against my chest, burying her face in my neck.

“Dorothy? What are you doing?” I asked when I could speak again.

“I’m sleeping, shh!” she whispered.

I smiled and took in a deep breath, enjoying the sweet scent of her hair and skin.

She shifted, trying to get comfortable, then pulled away from me with a sigh.

“I can’t sleep,” she told me sadly.

“I guess I don’t make a very comfortable bed,” I said.

This was the longest conversation I’d ever had with someone besides my grandmother, Mrs. Peterson, or the priest, and I was savoring it.

She turned to her other side and curled up against me again.

“You’re comfortable enough,” she reassured me.

She was silent and still, and for a moment I thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she asked, “Will you sing to me, Daniel?”

I stiffened, remembering the last time I’d attempted to sing.

“I don’t sing,” I said firmly.

She tilted her head back to look at me with those big baby blue eyes.

“Please?” she begged.

My heart melted, and I was shocked to realize that I could not deny this little angel anything.

I gave a defeated sigh, and she giggled in triumph.

Softly, I began to sing.

Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

When I finished, I looked up to see my grandmother awake and weeping. I myself was crying as the painful emotions that always seemed to surface when I had a brush with music washed over me.

I watched as she wiped the tears from her cheeks and took a shuddering breath.

“Goodbye, Daniel.”

“Goodbye, Grandmother.”

Then she lay back and shut her eyes.

“I’m ready now, Annie,” she said.

I watched as a slight tremor went through her entire body. Then she was still. My grandmother was dead.

The heart monitor started going crazy, and I quickly stood and carried Dorothy out of the room before the nurses caught me in there.

I looked down to see her watching me carefully.

“Where is your father’s room,” I asked.

I followed where she pointed, and entered the quiet, dark room.

There was a man sleeping on the bed, and a woman sitting in a chair beside him. She was also asleep.

There were no more chairs in the room, but there was another hospital bed on the opposite side of the room. I walked over and awkwardly climbed into it, being careful not to hurt Dorothy.

She kept a tight hold on me as I settled us in the bed, only relaxing her grip on my shirt after I’d stopped moving.

“Daniel? Did your grandmother die?” she asked in a whisper.

I nodded, and then began crying.

Dorothy wrapped her small arms around my neck and I buried my face in her hair, my body shaking with silent sobs. I clutched at her like she was my only lifeline. I must have gripped her too hard, because she gave a small squeak and pulled away.

“I-I’m sorry,” I said through my tears, reluctantly letting go of her.

I expected her to get up and leave. Perhaps she’d even wake up the woman and man and I’d get kicked out of the room.

I closed my eyes, trying desperately to get a hold of my grief, when I suddenly felt her press a kiss to my forehead.

My eyes flew open in shock, and I held completely still as she wiped the tears from my cheeks with her tiny fingers. The tears had loosened the prosthetic I wore over my face, and it easily came off in her small hands.

She gasped in shock as she took in my grotesque visage, and though I wanted to close my eyes and spare myself from her reaction, I couldn’t seem to move at all.

Her eyes widened, but it wasn’t with horror or disgust. No, the look she gave me was one of recognition.

“Erik?”

End Chapter 4

A/N: Yea! Now we’re getting somewhere. Only one more chapter left for Book One, then Book Two starts Dorothy/Christine’s POV.
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Born Ugly: Book One