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Meg lowered her mask as she saw Raoul and Christine. They looked so cute together! Meg kept dancing eyeing them out of the corner of her eye.

It had been three months since that performance of "Il Muto", and not a word had been heard of him. Three months had passed since that night Christine had betrayed him, but the pain of it still burned within him like some fiery coal. Months had passed, and the pain he felt had seemed to only intensify.

He had shut himself up in his home. He had worked almost unceasingly on his opera during that time. It had been his fondest hope that he would be able to descend into his music and never have to come out of it again, but he had not been so fortunate. Even music could not completely drown out his pain and longing, and that had bled into his opera. One could almost feel the desire contained within the music.

The opera had been finished a little over two months into his self-imposed exile, and that had left him plenty of time to prepare for the Bal Masque. He had never been to one before, but he could think of no better time to present the management with his opera. Of course they would not refuse him. Even they would not be foolish enough to deny a murderer.

He cut quite a figure in his costume. The whole costume had been of his own design, and he was certain that it would turn a few heads. He was dressed from head to toe in scarlet. In between the inner and outer layers of his coat there had been placed bone much like the kind one found in a woman's corset, but these bones had been placed horizontally so that one could imagine that they saw his rib cage showing through the richly colored fabric. The cloth had been pulled tightly between each bone so that every individual "rib" stood out even more in the fitted jacket. From his shoulders hung a crimson colored cape that trailed behind him, and upon the end of it was embroidered the phrase "Touch me not! For I am Red Death passing by". Around his waist was a black belt that held a saber. He would be the only man to come to the Masquerade armed. Only a suicidal moron would try to attack him. The final touch to his costume had been a skull mask that completely covered his face. A bit of black stage makeup around his left eye would make both of his eyes look equally sunken into his head. "And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all," he said quietly and satisfactorily as he examined his form in the mirror. Yes, his appearance would certainly cause quite a commotion at the masquerade.

With the score to his opera tucked under one arm, he had made his way up to where the festivities were being held. He felt a bit naked without his punjab lasso, but it would absolutely useless among such a large crowd of people. In this instance the sword was a much better choice.

As he made his way down the desserted hall to thegrand staircase a woman spotted him. She stared at him for a moment as he continued to approach before promptly screaming and fainting dead away. The music instantly fell silent, and it was just in time for him to step out onto the top of the staircase. He could not have hoped to make a better entrance. The woman's scream had halted all merry-making and drawn all eyes directly to him. Red Death had arrived.

((I'm going to pause here to allow people the opportunity to react to his entrance. It wouldn't be fair of me to rush through the entire thing without giving anyone the chance to respond.))

Meg stood next to Carlotta and Piangi. She gasped and wispered to Carlotta.

" It's the Phantom of the Opera!"

Meg was frightened and tiptoed to her mother and stood next to her like a frightned mouse.

Raoul ceased with the dance the moment the music halted and the figure of death stood magnificently atop the staircase. The crimson entourage in all its startling qualities caused the vicomte to pull closer to Christine in an effort to protect her; his suddenly hardened eyes fixed upon the gruesome display before them all. He was unsure of what to think of this right now.

Being endowed with excellent vision, Raoul spotted the flash of embroidery upon the cape and all he could initially think was how this man's humor was morbid and in utter bad taste. This was most certainly an uninvited guest, given the reactions from all and to compare this party to Prince Prospero was indicative of someone attempting to make a political statement or display their smarting feelings over being neglected an invitation. Regardless, Raoul felt the whole thing unnecessary and completely without cause.

The young man was uncertain as to whom exactly the identity of this Red Death was, but he had a growing theory of his own which continued to formulate with each passing moment. Seeing the blade in the man's hand made him wish for one of his own; he felt trapped and uneasy in his unarmed state with such an adversary in the room.

"Everything will be fine," he murmured to Christine, protectively close.

For a moment he stood at the top of the staircase. Tonight he did not care that everyone was gawking at him. He drank in their wide-eyed stares as he slowly scanned the costume clad crowd before him. On a few faces he could see the suspicions of those who thought that they knew who was hidden the skull mask, but on only one face did he see absolute recognition. I would have been disappointed in you, Antoinette, if you could not recognize me in such a weak disguise, he thought as his lips twisted beneath the mask into a sinister smirk.

"Why so silent, good messieurs?" he asked mockingly as he looked over the expressions twisted in varying degrees of shock, fear, and disgust. His voice easily carried to the farthest corners of the room, and he noticed the eyes of a few of the nearby people begin to grow glassy. There had always been some people who were exceptionally susceptible to the sound of his voice. If he were to begin to truly demonstrate the powers of his voice to those people it would not have mattered if he came up to those people and slit their wrists. They would have still died in pure exctacy. "Did you think that I had left you for good?"

Thos who had been suspicious of him when he'd first appeared were now certain of his identity now that he had spoken. Certainly the night of 'Il Muto' was burned in the memory of everyone who had been present. It was certainly burned into his. "Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have written you an opera."

Holding up the manuscript that he'd been carrying under his arm, he jerked his head towards the managers as they stood cowering together. M. Moncharmin looked as though he was about to pass out just like the woman he currently supported in his arms. "Here I bring the finished score--Don Juan Triumphant!" At that he threw the opera at the two men without really caring whether they caught it or let it hit the in their faces. "I advise you to comply. My instructions should be clear."

Drawing his saber from its scabbard, he waved it almost carelessly about. He'd seen a few eyes losing their initial fear of him, and he was not about to let them do anything stupid to interrupt him. The silver blade flashing menacingly in the candlelight was enough to squash any of their foolish notions of attacking him.

"Fondest greetings to you all." Here his voice became even more mocking. "A few instructions just before rehearsal starts: Carlotta must be taught to act. Not her normal trick of strutting 'round the stage." He stood in front of the woman in question with his blade pointed at her, but, instead of running her through as he most certainly would have preferred, he simply swiped at a couple feathers on her fancy headdress. They fluttered to the floor as Piangi stepped up to protect his woman from harm, and the point of the blade was immediately levelled at his face. There was less than an inch between it and the tip of his nose, and the fear was quite apparent. The golden eyes behind the mask flashed in an almost preditory expression. "Our Don Juan must lose some weight," he said lowering the blade to to lightly poke the man's rather prominent gut. "It's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age." He could have laughed at the indignant look on the man's pudgy face, but there was still business to attend to.

Turning away from the pair, he slowly approached Mssrs. Moncharmin and Richard, who still stood in precisely the same way as they had been when he'd delivered his opera. "And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts." The saber swung back and forth between them a few times looking for a moment like some strange sort of metrenome.

Satisfied that he had made his point to them, he slid the saber back into its sheath and turned towards the bottom of the staircase where Christine stood. She looked so out of place among the other partiers wearing a pink dress, but she complimented the color of his costume quite nicely. His gaze softened for a moment as he looked at her, but then he saw the ring hanging on the chain around her neck.

All of the pain that he had felt over the past three months suddenly returned to him, and he felt certain that he would explode from it. Fighting off the raging emotions, he forced himself to regain his composure. It would not do to have an emotional breakdown when he was trying to frighten everyone to cave into his demands. "As for our star, Miss Christine Daae..." he said holding out one hand towards her and descending a few more steps. "No doubt she'll do her best. It's true her voice is good. She knows though, should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn. If pride will let her return to me, her teacher..."

Here he held out both his arms as though to allow people a better look at him even though he was quite certain they'd had their fill of his macabre costume. He wanted them to know the he had been the one to realize the true potential of Christine's voice. It had been he who had taken her voice and shaped it into the beautiful instrument that it had become. When no one else had even suspected what lay hidden within her he had known, and he had brought it forth so that the world could treasure it just as he did. The Phantom of the Opera and the Angel of Music did not exist. There was only Erik. "Her teacher..."

((Okay...I'll let Morbid post whatever before he rips the ring off from around her neck. Everyone else is welcome to post whatever they wish.))

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The vicomte's breath was baited as the Phantom approached Christine so quietly, so slowly, so - so deceptively! In an instant, the ring that he had given to Christine one quiet evening in the Bois was snatched from her throat. He saw the chain snap, the theft made, and it was then clear to him why Christine had wanted to keep the engagement a secret. Not from Parisian society, but from this jealous coward who still held so much sway over her.

A snarl upon his face, Raoul rushed after the Phantom in fury. His Christine would not be intimidated by a masked fiend any longer and since no one else had been inclined to do much about it, the task now fell upon his shoulders.

He lept up the staircase taking two and three at a time and burst through the flames, which he recognized as the sort of short-lived stage pyrotechnics he had seen at carnivals and even on the opera's stage itself.

With sure feet he landed through the trapdoor - he expected something of that nature - but as he looked about for his opponent, but what he did not expect to see was himself, staring back at him and multiplied into infinity.

What was this devilry?