Death's Requiem

OceansAway

I sincerely thank you for taking an interest in my story. This may be posted as a prologue to another story but I thought that this deserves its own little plotline. The story that has this in still in the making and only has a plotline set up. If there are any grammar or French mistakes, please excuse me. All I have is my English-French dictionary and my French teacher every other day.

This, though not nearly my first story, is one of my first fanfictions. If anyone else out there would like to beta these, I would appreciate it greatly. Because two betas are better than one! Just drop a line in your review.

I thank Brie for looking this over for me.

Please review! As I am new to as a writer please tell me what you think. A line as simple as "good job" is appreciated. Constructive criticism is what helps me improve. Help with French; grammar and spelling errors are all welcome. All flames will be used to roast marshmallows.

Disclaimer: I own none of the character mentioned. The beginning passage's lyrics belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber and the original characters are based off Gaston Leroux and Susan Kay's novels. I only own my interpretations of the characters' dispositions and the plotline. I unfortunately own the mistakes as well.

B/N: I wuv it! I'm so glad I'm your beta!! Shameless advertising: read StarryKnight46's fanfics! To all of y'alls, she wrote the requiem all by herself! W000000000000000T!!!!

Don't mind the quite-more-than-half insane beta….

3 Brie, aka StarryKnight46

Thanks for reading and reviewing!!! (hint, hint, nudge, nudge)

"Go now! Go now and leave me!" his rich tenor echoed on the cavern walls. "Leave me! Promise me! Never to tell! Of the angel who burns in Hell!" His angelic voice ran hoarse, unable to bear the emotion. He raged around what had been his home for the past two decades. Disdainfully ruining the splendor of his home, for it matter no more without Christine. His restrained sobs burst from his body. He had lost. He never lost. He punished himself the only way he knew how. He ripped off the cover of the mirror, staring at the demon that dared to stare back. The evil voice in the back of his mind screamed, Kill the demon! Kill it so it will never return!

He obliged the voice, pounding the mirror with all his might. The mirror shattered but he kept his siege. Blood began to stream from his fists but he continued to batter until his bloodied hands were numb. His hammering continued until the stress, emotional fatigue and blood loss forced him to slump to his knees. The tears returned, stinging his sore face and mingling with his blood.

The moments Christine's lips had met his quivering deformed pair was the first few moments of bliss the affection-starved man had received in his entire life. Yet, as with all ultimate bliss it comes with a price, the skin covering his cheek was extremely thin. The veins could be seen pulsing and pumping blood to his ingenious mind. If the one was within an arm's span one could see the faint outline of the gums and teeth's roots through the skin. The muscles seen rippling under the skin had frightened many in his past. The pressure of her hands on his face, while wholly welcome had pressed against his sensitive nerves that had been damaged by his mother and his own unsuccessful attempts at removing the accursed demon residing on his face. The following result was a lasting impression of the sensation of her hands pressing against his face and her lips against his own. The mixture of his tears, pain and blood, an ironic blend for the murder's blood had been shed before and pain his frequent companion but the surprising taste of remorse for his actions for the first time, dripped onto the Persian rug staining it with his despair.

He turned to the fireplace. The scorpion and the grasshopper stood mockingly. Her reached for the grasshopper and turned it sharply to the right, past it's original position. A box was revealed. He opened the box; it contained a flask filled with a dry powder. He opened the stopper and took in the aroma. He was nauseated. His hand wavered as he dumped the powder into the glasses of fine wine he had meant to share with Christine. He swirled the liquid, unwilling to taste death quite yet.

He smiled. Christine was happy. So Erik would die happy for her, it was all for her. He decided to sing his own requiem, as his death was now inevitable. He had told her after his opera was finished he would soon after die. He laughed at the irony of it. The only lie he wished would never come true would end up being one of the few truths ever he ever told. But his brittle laughter was quickly subdued. His haunting voice was filled with anguish as he sang.

"Darkness has triumphed

Fate destined it so

For the fallen angel

To wander the world endlessly

Cursed a life of solitude

Scorned by the multitude

The soul's cursed existence

Has ended!"

With that, Erik raised the deadly wine to his lips. After tasting one sip, he decided that the wine's natural flavor was enhanced by the bitter alkaloid. The effects slowly begin to take affect as he continued the requiem.

"Fallen angel she calls

An angel of paradise

Afraid to call the truth

Too kind, too gentle

To speak the truth as the others have

No kind words for the dying soul

For he is already dead

No prayer of safe passing for the dying soul

For he has sold his soul to the devil

Demon and fiend

The damned soul

Is promised to the devil

For Don Juan was never a man

He was Satan himself

The demonic creature

Sent to live a Hell on earth

Fought to live a life of love

But the devil fought as he does

With hatred, lies and deceit

So the accursed soul lived a bet

A bet between him and Hell

Born into a cursed corpse

He fought to set the angel free

Break the curse

Win true love

Live a life without love

Die and pay the price

The price of the soul of an innocent man

Trapped in the fires of Hell!"

As the last note's echoes slowly died throughout the catacombs the effects of the poison announced their presence. He felt a sudden rush of energy. Afraid of losing his resolve to leave Christine in peace, Erik turned to his music. His organ, while covered with numerous scratches and the pipes were housing dents, could still play.

He would die in the arms of the only family who had ever accepted him, his music, and the night.

La fin