His Shakespearean Tragedy
By Hermione W. Cullen
Chapter One: When Erik Was Beautiful
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or plot lines that you recognize from the book or musica (which, by the way, are two very different things—don't get them confused!l, blah blah blah.
A/N: I have actually been working on this story for several years. I started it circa 2004, when I was in eighth grade. Due to the enormous stretches of time between chapters, there were some discrepancies between chapters…so I have decided to go back and correct these errors. I have left the essential story the same, but I think you'll find it much more readable. As in, as much as I would like to edit some of the thirteen-year-old drama out of the earlier chapters, I won't.
Erik sat in his dark underground cavern, not crying. Though he had cried many times throughout his life, he wasn't sure if he was able to now. He looked back at his life and pondered its meaning, from his blundering youth in Persia to his final moments as the Phantom of the Opera. The moments that had just occurred, or maybe that were occurring now. The transition was or wasn't complete. In any case, The Phantom of the Opera would spend his last few hours of life as Erik. Erik's last breath would have no mask hiding it. A man whose life had been mostly a masquerade would die in a new dramatis persona, as himself. Erik knew this was the only way to get any peace of mind. He hadn't eaten or slept For a month, and the end of his tale was drawing near. He was finally happy, and would die at peace, accepting his life of great accomplishment or great failure.
Erik's memory: Persia, a very long time ago.
It had been that fateful September morning that would change his life forever. The air smelled sweet and the sky was clear. Twelve-year-old Erik stepped out into the early spring morning. He loved these kinds of days, when the air was cool but not freezing. Everything was perfect, except for his long list of chores. The young boy was bound to serve his adoptive family. Erik had been left on the porch of family in question at the age of three months. No one had known at the time, but his big, beautiful brain had a disease that would cause him to develop horrible deformities starting around age five. The blonde, blue-eyed babe had begun to develop what looked like burn marks on the right side of his face in the first stage. From there, it had steadily gotten worse each year. Now, at twelve, he was in many people's view horrible to look upon. The right side of his face was grotesquely disfigured, unimaginable and indescribable. The skin on his left side was yellow and pockmarked. Erik's Eyes were slightly sunken and something corrosive was eating away at his nose. His mouth hadn't grown since he was eight. The boy was a miserable and horrifying sight. Any of the villagers would have told you willingly enough that they understood why his family couldn't stand having him in the house. If he was there, they risked going into shock with every turn, risked seeing his ugly face. Erik understood this. He had taken to wearing an old mask he'd found in a curiosity shoppe, a purple one lined with shining threads. It gave the homely boy a feeling of mystery and grandeur. Theatrics had always given him a thrill. He had experimented with different kinds of "magic", disappearing and voice magnification and such. The very skills he would later use to become the Phantom of the Opera, the grand, mysterious, enchanting madman. Erik's perfect alter ego.
So in his mask he ventured out into the open air. His black tailcoat, which was a bit long, dragged in the dirt. Erik didn't care. The wash lady owed him a favor, since he had created a sort of machine that had speeded up her job. If Erik ever needed to clean up for a formal event (fat chance there was a formal event that he'd be allowed at), He could do so with a snap of his long, spindly fingers.
After a long day of calling in favors to lighten his workload, Erik went home for supper. There his family was waiting for him. Or, more specifically, dreading his reappearance, pausing in their daily tasks to bite their nails with stress at the thought of it.
"Good evening, Mami. And you, Papi." He said cheerfully. Few could help but love homely little Erik. Love and hate and pity. It was his curse and his blessing, cause of all his joy and woe. Little Erik didn't really understand why everyone despised him from the moment they first saw him. All he knew was that something was wrong. Erik was not one to take things at face value.
"Good evening, Erik. It's lovely to see you," said Erik's mother curlty. She wasn't in the mood for horrible young Erik today. Her husband's business had taken a turn for the worse.
Erik's father was sitting at his desk a few feet away, his head in his hands. Erik knew something was wrong. He'd always had a certain intuition in that area.
"Papi? Is something the matter?" If anyone could have seen under that mask of his, they would know that his ugly face became a pinch uglier, showing that he was concerned.
"Go away, child. I cannot bear to look at you today." Erik did not, as he usually did, argue that he had his mask on. He could take a hint. He was, after all, probably the greatest mind of his generation.
"Yes, Papi. I will go to my room now. Mami, call me down when it is suppertime." Erik's mother gave a grunt and a nod, wondering why the horrible thing insisted on calling her Mami. However, she was unable to deny what could have been a charming young lad this one little pleasure in what she knew would be his long, miserable life. She was, after all, not completely cold-hearted. Was she? It was times like these she wished that Erik would disappear, that she and her husband could live in peace. They had never wanted children.
"Bali?" Erik's mother asked her husband, "Are you alright?"
"Yes," replied Erik's father. "Just go prepare supper." With that, Christiana Daae stood to put water on the stove.