Muwahahahaha! And so it begins, my dear readers. This story is chock full of darkness, angst, and hyperactivity caused by severe lack of caffeine (Whether this last one pertains to me or the Phantom, I'm not quite sure.). My Erik (Mine I tell you!) (Sorry, I had to do that at least once.) is based mostly upon Kay Erik but also touches upon aspects of both Leroux Erik and Webber Erik. He is a sad, lonely, paranoid, andconfused personwho has a psycho side that is extremely disturbing.
Happy reading!
Disclaimer: I take full credit for what me and my mind come up with – things such as characters, bits of exploding scenery, etc. – the rest I give due credit to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, and Susan Kay.
Erik Discovers the Advantages of Being a Phantom
Article of Clothing Number One: The Cloak
Erik stood before the mirror contemplating his reflection. One might call this action preening since the Opera Ghost had been observing his velvet and silk clad self for at least twenty minutes. He would never admit this to himself, though.
Every hair in his glorious mane was in place, creating a shiny mass of sheer blackness, which contrasted with the matte white of the mask. His outfit was pristine - the usual phantom attire with the exception of a new burgundy cravat. He also wore tightly fitting black leather gloves, which were oiled so well that they seemed to have adopted an ethereal glow.
Finally, for the first time in going on a half an hour the Phantom made a move. His long, elegant, shiny black leather clad hand reached out and took hold of his luxurious cape…
…and swished it.
And then swished it again.
Erik stood in front of the glass as if mesmerized. There was something about that cloak that he could not tear his gaze off of.
The Swishiness, he thought.
He stepped back from the mirror and gave a little twirl, causing the cloak to fan out and then swirl tightly around his body.
He stopped and as the rich black velvet of the fabric surrounding his person slowly peeled off his arms and legs he stared into his reflection's glowing blue eyes.
Might I actually look…good?
You see, his reasoning as to why he had always dressed so impeccably in the past was: I might as well give people something other to look at than my face. I might not look normal, but I absolutely will not give them any place to find fault with other than the mask.
Being so, when our dear Phantom found out that he was, in all actuality, a god among men, he took to the idea like a fish out of water.
Literally.
He took a great, gasping, breath and then sank down onto the ground, his head bowed and his cloak pooling about him. For a while he just sat staring at the ground, fingering the edge of his cloak as if he were a child who had just done something wrong. All that could be heard was the gentle moving of the water out on the lake and the oppressive silence of the tons of rock above his head. Then, with a swift movement he pushed himself off from the ground and strode to the other end of the room. He crossed into his bedroom and went straight for the closet.
It looked as though something exploded, sending a great many articles of clothing flying across the room. Shirts were tossed out and then pants. Shoes were projected into various corners, one landing haphazardly on top of the head of the swan bed. Fedoras, cufflinks, and waistcoats sailed across the bed. Cravats were tossed as far way from the closet as they possibly could be.
All the while, Erik was muttering to himself things such as:
"I hate clothes."
"Goddamn clothes!"
"Maybe I should just go around naked. That would scare the managers half to death. The Mooning Mandan! Yes, that would do nicely."
A loud thud echoed around the cavern sounding suspiciously like a head being hit on solid rock.
"What am I thinking? This is pure stupidity emanating from my brain right now. I'm not in my right mind!"
More thudding, and then,
"Aha!"
He had just found his stash of cloaks.
"You…you…evil piece of fabric. You ruined my life!"
"See how you like this! Ahhahahahahahahaha!"
There was a loud ripping sound and:
"Arrrrggggggggggggghhh! It burns, it burns! Oh the pain! Cloth burn is eeeevil, I tell you, evil!"
"You are going to pay, I swear to God, YOU ARE GOING TO PAY!"
Slowly, the stream of clothes flowing from the closet trickled off. Erik was sitting exhausted on the floor covered in various items that had fallen off the shelves in his rampage and bits of cloak. He was rocking slowly back and forth; crying tears of both joy and anger and his face was contorted into a look of confusion.
If anyone else was in the lair they probably would have thought that he had finally snapped.
Psychoanalysis of Erik 101: The Erik was in two states known as shock and denial. Shock because he couldn't get over the fact that he had what he had longed for his whole life – he was beautiful despite his face. Disbelief because it had been drilled into him since childhood that he was an ugly monster and he didn't deserve to live and in one minute of standing in front of a mirror (okay, it was more like thirty) that whole idea had been stripped away from his mind.
Uncurling himself from his uncomfortable position on the floor of the closet he dragged himself to the bed and flopped ungracefully down onto it. Clothes puffed up from on top of the covers and landed on the Phantom's prone form, making it seem as if there was a mountain of cloth instead of a man lying there.
As the Opera Ghost drifted off to a nightmare filled sleep the only thought that ran through his head was,
Why?
