I don't own Phantom of The Opera, or the song in the story; those belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, and John Barrowman respectively.

He was agonizing over her.

He knew it wasn't healthy, but he didn't care.

He had past the point of no return and fallen over the cliff of Despair, drowning in the sea of Depression.

And the sea, it seems, is calling him to write a peppy love song.

'Me, write something with a CHEERFUL tune? Ha! Hell will freeze over first,' he thought, a wry sarcastic smile upon his face.

But apparently Hell was feeling a cold snap, because trumpets and spanish guitars were playing a catchy Calypso-like tune in his head, and they simply refused to silence themselves.

Grumbling, he reluctantly began playing the tune on his organ, mumbling and trying to figure out words.

"My whole entire life right now is tragic- no..."

"My hormonal system's wreaking havoc- no..."

"Carlotta needs to stop being so dramatic- funny, but no..."

Finally, after many useless attempts, he realized.

He already knew what to write down.

It just hurt too much to actually do it.

With trembling hands and a tear in his eye, he played the tune again, but this time played the only line he had dared not sing.

"Every little thing she does is magic..."

He faltered, but his mind was already composing, adding words to notes like stringing clear glass beads on golden wire. They clicked together and connected like puzzle pieces.

This piece was going to be his mortifying yet. He could already tell.

One Week Later...

He was right. It was his most embarrassing piece yet.

It was a cheesy, semi-depressing, borderline repetitive, love song.

To a Calypso tune.


He really sank to an all-time low with this one.

But it was done, and he could finally try to move on with his life.

Right after he played it, of course.

Even if it was his most embarrassing work, he wanted to make sure it was perfect.

Then he could lock it up and make sure it never saw the light of day.

He sat down, and was about to place his fingers on the keys when he hesitated.

Could he really do it? Could he sing of her once more? Of his angel?

He had to. He needed to. He had to move on.

Even if it meant singing pathetic drivel.

He placed his hands on the keys once more, and began.

"Though I've tried before to tell her

Of the feelings I have for her in my heart

Every time that I come near her

I just lose my nerve

As I've done from the start"

Thus he became her Angel of Music. He couldn't possibly face her in the beginning, so a holy entity seemed like the best way to go.

"Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on

Do I have to tell the story

Of a thousand rainy days since we first met

It's a big enough umbrella

But it's always me that ends up getting wet"

He had watched over her, even during her 'secret' engagement ot the Vicomte. He watched as they went on carriage rides, as they took walks in the park, and he hated it with a passion. But the absolute worst were rainy nights.

They would stroll the town, and whenever they waited to cross the street, he affectionately peck her on the lips, making her blush prettily under the cream colored umbrella.

Oh, how he hated those moments! They were the few moments he actually felt envious of that brainless fop! To be able to kiss her like that, out in the open. To show her affection...

He could never do that.

He was ugly. A demon. Spawn of gargoyles and rotting corpses. Even if he was brave enough to show her affection, he knew she would never accept it.

After all, who could ever love a hideous, ugly beast?

" Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on"

The words had lost a bit of feeling now; there was less shine to the diamond. It was still a diamond, of course, and was still valuable; but now its price had lessened some.

But some of the heartache had lessened as well, surprisingly. Encouraged by this, he continued.

"I resolve to call on her

A thousand times a day

And ask her if she'll marry me in some old fashioned way

But my silent fears have gripped me

Long before I reach the door,"

Fears like, 'What if she rips off my mask?', 'What if she sees my face?'. But the most daunting of all was,

'What if she sneers in disgust and says no?'

Those questions had stopped him, and now he would never know what might have happened, what could have been.

Those questions had ended up making him write this drivel.

"Long before my tongue has tripped me

Must I always be alone?"

All his life, he had been alone. His mother, his tormenters in the circus, Ayesha the cat (who left him for a mangy alley cat), and now his beloved Christine.

They had all left him.

They all would have left him eventually.

But it still hurt.

"Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on"

The song was nearing its end now. He had reflected on so many things during the song, he now had no idea what to do once it was over. It worried him, but at the same time, it relieved him.

He had found closure with all the things he reflected upon, and he would finish playing this cheesy drivel.

The pros outweighed the cons.

"Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she does just turns me on

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on

Every little thing she does is magic."

With a flourish, he finished the song, panting as he cut off the last note.

He felt alive, buzzing with electricity and adrenaline, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

He had never felt more at peace.

"I told you he's gone mad."

He whipped around, and there was Nadir and Madame Giry, gawking like country cows*.

The song was definitely getting locked up in his 'never-play-again-why-haven't-you-burned-this-yet' folder now.


The song is 'Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic' by John Barrowman. It's different from the Sting and The Police version, so make sure it's the right one, if you plan on listening to it. There's a link on my profile.

* This is a reference to the book Dragon Slippers. The heroine of the story is constantly called "you stupid country cow!" by a spoiled foreign princess. I always laughed at that bit, so I decided to add it here.

Some lyrics are slightly changed to fit the time period, so...


Please Favorite and review; my self-esteem is at an all-time low because of my last two one-shots.

There is the smallest possibility that there could be a sequel, but I get so little response that I doubt it. Let me know what you think via review or PM.

Happy belated Valentine's day!