• It was gold and satin that touched the girl's cheek,
    and a hushed voice, whispering a lullaby from the darkness,
    that pulled her every step, and heart beat.

    Hypnotizing, lulling her in, the gloved hand,
    connected to a body, of a figure, cloaked in black,
    stepped back through the mirror secret door,
    as did she.

    Candles danced, as if the very voice of the figure,
    the man, as far as the girl could tell, commanded them to.
    The fires sparkling, and blending with the long-
    forgotten tiles of the passage floor,
    of the old opera house.

    Quickly, a new movement stoked down the girl's dress,
    with her laces, and ribbons of silk, dyed a lovely
    pink, a pale hand did play. Slowly, it traced up her thigh,
    and along her own hand, grasping it, pulling her farther,
    her own soft gracefully practiced footsteps,
    padding's of a ballet dancer.

    The figure stopped abruptly, shadows scowling,
    the girl pondered, and suddenly the figure traced his long,
    pale fingers over the girl's neck, to her lips.
    Sing, sing for me;the girl swore she heard the enchanting voice command her. And so she did. The girl swore again, for was it there:
    in the ever fading candle light, she saw-
    the shadowy man, smile lightly.

    :Angel of Music, my desire, tell me, oh strange angel:
    Why do you hide here, by here,
    slowly, waiting,
    do you seek redemption? Oh dear sir-
    The snap of a closed door, silenced the girl.
    Suddenly the figure traced her lips, so softly the girl pictured,
    a snowy dove, with wings light and pure,
    deep into the shadowed darkness.

    Dear child, the figure whispered, softly, letting her go,
    in the darkness, where not even the moon ever coasted gaze seem to reach.
    I am not he, whom seek redemption,
    in a cruel world where, angels fall.
    I am just he, the Angel of Music, long before shadows, quiver and stall.
    I am the voice, where you, and you only, hear my echoing plea,
    You and you only, can bring the light, to the darkest part of thee.
    But alas, my darling, even angels know hell.
    I, myself, am the Angel, of Music, who fell.

    The girl was transfixed by this man, who suddenly, almost as if by magic,
    lit the darkness with a glamorous praise of swirling harmony,
    from the grandest and most beautiful organ she had ever seen.
    A huge golden chandelier hung from above them- the spinning candles she saw.
    Had she been flying? flying with this man?
    His voice was the most breathtaking she had ever heard,
    no, she decided abruptly.
    If hell meant staying by this fallen angel's side, she was not afraid.
    :Teach me, show me, oh my great shadowmaster, teach me, hold me,
    I am not afraid, I am not afraid....

    To this, the girl saw another, weak smile from the mist, and the shadows seemed to brush, and unfurl across her shoulders, as they were soon caressed by the phantom's strong arms. His long thin fingers fell across her waist. And suddenly,
    she was swept up by the mystic, finally-
    allowing a glimpse at his face.
    Just a glimpse at his face.
    What the girl's eyes met, in moonlight darkness, and candlelight, was white ivory,
    that covered, and gleamed, and shined more pure than any white she had seen before. It caressed the man's entire left face; a mask she decided. It allowed only for his eye to be seen there. Here, her heart beat a bit faster, as this all seemed very ghoulish in the arms of a stranger.

    But to her great relief, this scare did not last long, for her eyes traveled the rest of the way; and there, she saw the real flesh of a pale male face.
    It seemed both young and old at once.
    Both alive and dead.
    Both full and empty.
    Both a-blessed, and yet..sad.
    The man held her carefully, as if waiting for something.
    Fear in one of many words to say;
    The phantom, the girl saw, had vibrant, nearly glowing brown hair in the flame of the candles, dark and rich.
    He lifted his head, the ivory in awe bending to his muscles of his face.
    He stared deeply up at the chandelier.

    :Teach you; the phantom murmured,
    ..Teach you?..A monster... teach you? You're frighten, teach you....
    His soft voice trailed longingly.
    The girl slowly, carefully lifted her fingers over the man's partly flesh face,
    a gesture the man had not felt in many a year.
    He quickly tossed his head away from her reach,
    but slowly she turned it back towards her,
    speaking, yet singing softly:
    I am not afraid...not of a man....an angel...
    I am not afraid..
    She carefully traced the phantom's mask, amazed at how soft it felt,
    light, and she was yet again, reminded of a dove.
    A wounded dove.
    She lifted the bottom half of his mask, only to be disappointed in the shadows that filled it in, and blocked her view of whatever it was covering. She kissed there, softly.
    To this piece of tenderness, the phantom looked down, and smiled.
    :Teach...you....yes,..teach you...
    Shadows seemed to come alive and dance around them.
    I am your angel of music...