(BEING REWRITTEN) An Opera Ghost- A Phantom of the Opera Fan Fiction

Chapter Fifteen

A/N: This isn't super long or anything, but I felt it should stand alone. I have never really done a big cliffhanger, so tell me how I did with my first :D

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Florence was having an awful dream. She had risen from her bed to see the canal that led to the lair was blocked off by bars. She had never seen it as such, and it quite worried her. She got up and went to the mirror, but in opening it, she found it too was blocked by metal bars which were freezing cold to the touch.

"Papa?!" Florence's cry rang through the lair as she went to her father's desk where he usually sat and kept her masks. Her father was not there. All of her mask were, though, and each was shattered into a thousand pieces. Frightened, Florence went around to check the different tunnels that channeled off through the Opera Populaire. They were all barred, and Florence suddenly felt like she was in prison.

"Papa!?" Florence screeched hysterically, running around the lair but only reaching dead ends. Rushing out into the water, Florence sloshed to the large bars condemning her to remain within the confined space. "Papa!?"

She had no earthly idea that Erik could indeed hear her. He did, he just chose to ignore it. He would deal with his daughter when he was less angry. Now, however, he had other people to deal with. Two ballet rats that just couldn't hold their tongues and a young man who was said to be in love with his daughter. Meg had followed him after Angela had left her room to find him locking up his lair as tightly as he possibly could she had begged him not to hurt anyone; she said if he killed Olivier and Florence found out, she would never forgive him, which possibly only made him angrier. It reminded him of Christine and how she would have never forgiven him if he had killed the imbecile she managed to fall in love with... And then Meg had gone on to plead for the lives of the poor ballerinas as they were young and knew no better.

Erik had told Meg he would consider her statements, and then had sent her back to her room. She hadn't argued further; she had left silently, afraid for things to come. The noose in Erik's grasp now was an sign that at least one life would be dangling above the stage at the Opera Populaire. Two spared, the third slain. Each would be an example, though. He was sure of that much...

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DUN DUN DUUUUUUN! Aren't I a marvelous person? Okay soo what do you think? Who do you think will be the poor soul Erik picks off? Lover boy Olivier, Miss Talks Alot Angela, or the chick who called his daughter a demon Phoebe? Tell me what you think! Fan, comment, and vote!