Fanfiction Phantom Of The Opera Novels & Stories

“I’ve never seen you speak with so much emotion. You talk to the water easier than you talk to your actual friends. You can’t see him, you can’t hear him, so Eliza—he’s not real!” “I’m sorry, Phantom Guy,” I said, ignoring Nicolas. “Looks like my friend can’t tell you’re here. But I feel your presence.” I pointed to my chest. “My heart races when you show up, and it makes me so happy.” Suddenly, Nicolas pulled me into a tight hug. I didn’t understand the sudden move—until he said something that caught me completely off guard. “Eliza... are you creating someone who doesn’t exist to escape the rejection of your mate?”

During the rapid fall, that fragile embrace caught me. Though I couldn't feel it, I knew it was him. The young werewolf pressed his forehead against mine. His usually translucent face was now lit with a satisfied smile. "Carly, I love you." His voice echoed deep inside my soul. Then, his body began to dissolve. From his toes upward, he turned into shimmering particles, vanishing into the raging wind. Just before he disappeared completely, 18-year-old Ronan left me one last message. "Don't forgive him."

He saw a partner. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine, his scent of blood and gasoline intoxicating me. "You’re a madwoman, Esmeray Fenlon," he whispered. "A beautiful, terrifying madwoman." "And you’re a fool if you thought I’d stay in the shadows," I countered. He let out a low, rough chuckle and finally pulled me into his chest, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. Around us, the Phantoms began to cheer—a low, guttural sound of respect. They weren't cheering for their President; they were cheering for me.

I NEED to know who he is, and something tells me I won’t discover much if I approach him as Phantom Reaper. I don’t really even know who I actually am, to be honest. I never indulged in friendships or relationships with others. It’s just always been survival. The only person I had any kind of positive relationship was my mother. I don’t know my father but because of my hair color, I’m fairly certain my father was Christian Bartoa. I know he frequented the slave cells whenever he was bored, and the urge arises so it doesn’t surprise me, but I don’t intend to ever claim him nor carry his surname. The thought of actually SPEAKING to Damien makes me feel a weird sense of anxiety. I’m unsure if i

With a shift in his tone, Phantom remarked, "I can consider letting them go if…" "If what?" Cassian asked. "If you give her to me so that I can make her my missus, I'll let the rest go." Phantom licked his lips as he pointed at Fiona. Fiona's face drained of color. Trembling, she said, "Dr. York, I don't—" "Dream on!" Before Fiona even finished her sentence, Cassian exploded in fury and rushed forward.