1 The Phantom's Dream by Lynne Stephenson
He looked down at Christine as she lay on the bed, her dark curls spread across the pillow, her face serene, lit by candlelight. He longed to touch her, to feel her in his arms, as he watched her. Her expression was peaceful, her face so beautiful, her nose so finely shaped, her lashes seeming to brush her cheeks, her lips full and soft, tipped in a smile ever so slight. The sense of harmony was infectious, and Erik wanted to stand there forever, just looking at her.
He turned away then, stepping towards his organ in the corner of the room. Sitting down, he began to play, sounding out a lovely piece of music that echoed the beauty in his heart right now, as his beloved slept peacefully in the bed across the room. He began to sing, his voice clear and magnificent, the song of an angel. As he sang, he heard behind him a soft footfall, and turned to see Christine.
She seemed ever more beautiful than he remembered, and he stood up as she came to him. She stepped close to him, and he took her in his arms, feeling her warmth and softness against him. She looked up into his eyes, and smiled, her own eyes bright with love and happiness. She reached up, her slender fingers gently touching his cheek. He nearly started, as her fingers touched his skin, and he realized that he was not wearing his mask. Fear of rejection and a great shuddering despair welled up inside of him, and he stepped back away from her.
Christine looked at him, no hint of revulsion or fear on her face. "What's wrong, my love?" she said in a soft voice, a slight tinge of pain evident in her tone. She seemed not to know why he had backed away from her. Erik wanted to tell her no, how could she act this way while gazing on the visage of a monster, and he reached up to touch his own face. There he met not the mask he always wore but his own flesh, as his fingers brushed over his face a stunned realization surged through him, followed by a momentary feeling of insane joy mixed with disbelief.
"Christine.?" He looked to her, astonished, and she came to him, tilting her face up to his. He only stood there, and she reached a hand to his face again, softly stroking his forehead, pushing a lock of hair back. Then she took his hand, and led him over to the mirror. He looked at her face, studying every finely etched detail, every smooth contour. It was a long moment before he looked at the mirror.
What he saw there shocked him beyond belief.the reflection of Christine stood next to a tall, gaunt man dressed in evening clothes.but this man could not be him, Erik knew, because as he looked at the reflection's face, he saw features that seemed to have been formed in utter perfection by the gods, blue eyes both gentle and intense, powerful. His hair was dark, and a few strands of it fell over his forehead. And the image's nose. Erik turned away from the mirror, his hands once again touching his own face. This was him. but how could it be? He looked at Christine, and she smiled at him, and suddenly his disbelief vanished. She kissed him, her lips warm against his own. He pulled her to him, holding her tightly, never wanting to let her go as he felt his entire being suffused by the strength of his love for her. They would be together, and happy.
Erik awoke with a start, his eyes casting about the candlelit room in sleep-drugged uncertainty. His gaze fell on his organ, then on the bed where Christine lay, asleep. Erik became aware of where he was, and found he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. He'd been asleep.he thought.he pulled himself to his feet, casting a glance back to the beautiful Christine, still wrapped in her slumber.
Hesitantly, Erik reached up and touched his own face.and felt there his familiar mask. It was so real.it had been so real.it couldn't be gone.slowly he removed the mask, looking at it in his hands for a long time before reaching a hand once again to his face. A choked cry forced itself out from deep within his chest, and he whirled to face the mirror. There he saw the same face he'd always known.yellowish skin stretched over his cheekbones, blue eyes sunk back into their sockets, a gaping space where his nose should have been.
Erik quickly put the mask back on, turning away from the image in the mirror in utter disgust. He had been whole.for such a brief time.frustration welled up inside of him, and he stood there, shaking, struggling to control the desperate tears that brimmed in his eyes and threatened to spill over. He fought back a sob, resisting the need to scream, in the utter desolation that he felt. He looked once again at Christine, at her sleeping there so peacefully, and it only intensified his pain. He turned, sitting down at his organ, and began to play, trying to find an outlet for his distress in letting his feelings flow out through his music.all he knew to do.
He looked down at Christine as she lay on the bed, her dark curls spread across the pillow, her face serene, lit by candlelight. He longed to touch her, to feel her in his arms, as he watched her. Her expression was peaceful, her face so beautiful, her nose so finely shaped, her lashes seeming to brush her cheeks, her lips full and soft, tipped in a smile ever so slight. The sense of harmony was infectious, and Erik wanted to stand there forever, just looking at her.
He turned away then, stepping towards his organ in the corner of the room. Sitting down, he began to play, sounding out a lovely piece of music that echoed the beauty in his heart right now, as his beloved slept peacefully in the bed across the room. He began to sing, his voice clear and magnificent, the song of an angel. As he sang, he heard behind him a soft footfall, and turned to see Christine.
She seemed ever more beautiful than he remembered, and he stood up as she came to him. She stepped close to him, and he took her in his arms, feeling her warmth and softness against him. She looked up into his eyes, and smiled, her own eyes bright with love and happiness. She reached up, her slender fingers gently touching his cheek. He nearly started, as her fingers touched his skin, and he realized that he was not wearing his mask. Fear of rejection and a great shuddering despair welled up inside of him, and he stepped back away from her.
Christine looked at him, no hint of revulsion or fear on her face. "What's wrong, my love?" she said in a soft voice, a slight tinge of pain evident in her tone. She seemed not to know why he had backed away from her. Erik wanted to tell her no, how could she act this way while gazing on the visage of a monster, and he reached up to touch his own face. There he met not the mask he always wore but his own flesh, as his fingers brushed over his face a stunned realization surged through him, followed by a momentary feeling of insane joy mixed with disbelief.
"Christine.?" He looked to her, astonished, and she came to him, tilting her face up to his. He only stood there, and she reached a hand to his face again, softly stroking his forehead, pushing a lock of hair back. Then she took his hand, and led him over to the mirror. He looked at her face, studying every finely etched detail, every smooth contour. It was a long moment before he looked at the mirror.
What he saw there shocked him beyond belief.the reflection of Christine stood next to a tall, gaunt man dressed in evening clothes.but this man could not be him, Erik knew, because as he looked at the reflection's face, he saw features that seemed to have been formed in utter perfection by the gods, blue eyes both gentle and intense, powerful. His hair was dark, and a few strands of it fell over his forehead. And the image's nose. Erik turned away from the mirror, his hands once again touching his own face. This was him. but how could it be? He looked at Christine, and she smiled at him, and suddenly his disbelief vanished. She kissed him, her lips warm against his own. He pulled her to him, holding her tightly, never wanting to let her go as he felt his entire being suffused by the strength of his love for her. They would be together, and happy.
Erik awoke with a start, his eyes casting about the candlelit room in sleep-drugged uncertainty. His gaze fell on his organ, then on the bed where Christine lay, asleep. Erik became aware of where he was, and found he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. He'd been asleep.he thought.he pulled himself to his feet, casting a glance back to the beautiful Christine, still wrapped in her slumber.
Hesitantly, Erik reached up and touched his own face.and felt there his familiar mask. It was so real.it had been so real.it couldn't be gone.slowly he removed the mask, looking at it in his hands for a long time before reaching a hand once again to his face. A choked cry forced itself out from deep within his chest, and he whirled to face the mirror. There he saw the same face he'd always known.yellowish skin stretched over his cheekbones, blue eyes sunk back into their sockets, a gaping space where his nose should have been.
Erik quickly put the mask back on, turning away from the image in the mirror in utter disgust. He had been whole.for such a brief time.frustration welled up inside of him, and he stood there, shaking, struggling to control the desperate tears that brimmed in his eyes and threatened to spill over. He fought back a sob, resisting the need to scream, in the utter desolation that he felt. He looked once again at Christine, at her sleeping there so peacefully, and it only intensified his pain. He turned, sitting down at his organ, and began to play, trying to find an outlet for his distress in letting his feelings flow out through his music.all he knew to do.