Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, it's character's trademarks, etc. All credit is given to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Weber. Thank you. This is my first POTO fic, so I hope it's okay. Please give me reviews for encouragement, or i really won't continue this... T.T
Christine left. Not only after gaining her freedom rom Erik and earning her right to be with Raoul, she decided that she would much rather find another to devote her love to than spend another moment with either men. to many bad memories, was her claim, as she rode off in the carriage, that bumped and jacked on the cobblestones as the horses were whipped into a trot. Raoul was left stunned on the sidewalk, his eyes following the coach with his jaw slack and mouth half open. His mind was numb with shock, and he turned slowly to talk in the opposite direction. what was he going to do now? He could think of nothing. Christine had been his life, had she not? What he had devoted himself to? Yes he had, and now she decided she needed to get away. Raoul could never love another... Swearing angrily, he tore the ring from his finger and tossed it down, onto the ground, where it rolled into gutter and disappeared in the abyss of the Paris catacombs. Directly underneath where he was, Lake Averne rested, it's waters still and peaceful. Until a small glittering circle dropped into it's water with a soft plop!
Erik turned sharply from his spot on the shore. A thick leather book was tucked under one arm, and the mask had resumed it's position on his face, the gentle fit of white porcelin was comforting to him and soothed his aching heart, knowing the monstrous side of him was shielded. Still, he was now troubled. Nothing should have broken the surface of the lake.. So what had done so? Taking a cautious step forward, he hopped off the rocks and down into a few inches of water. His black dress-pants were always wet around the knees, so he found no real disgust as he was once more enveloped in cold water, only to his ankles so far. He traveled forward to where the ripples were coming, not many inches further until line of water was only half up his shin. He reached down and fished his hand into the sand, finding only sharp bites of stones and something smooth, a foreign shape that wasn't supposed to be in the bottom of a lake. Pulling his hand out, his sleeve soaked to his elbow, Erik examined the object carefully and critically before coming to realize it was a small gold band, with no stone, the most romantic kind in Erik's opinion. The eternal circle, not interfered with such beauty and trivial distractions as diamonds... Only a pure, handsome golden ring.
"My...." he murmered, turning the jewelry over in his fingers and then blinking. there was an inscription now. On the inner of the band, an engraved message was written out, etched into the precious metal.
Angel's aren't real....Love is.
Erik pocketed the ring with a frown and sighed as he looked miserably at his soaking pants. He was a mess down here, sulking because he had nothing now. The opera was in repairs for the burning damage, and he was now just waiting to die. Waiting... He had contemplated hurrying things on a little, and had since been overdosing on medicines he had aquired and stolen from others.
How long did it take to die?
He couldn't wait much longer... He was dying from love, it was tearing him apart from the inside out. He began to tremble as emotion overtook him, and tears threatened all to real at his eyes. The slipped down his cheeks and under his mask till they to were swallowed into the lake... He was tempted to destroy his mask, or drown himself in the water. He was overtaken by love... He wanted to throw Don Juan Triumphant into the lake and watch it become soggy and water logged, the ink smearing over his masterpiece. All he had left now was to die, and he could tell he wasn't far from it. Gritting his teeth, Erik stepped slowly out of the lake, deciding to pay the daroga one last visit, and thank him for saving his life... One last time...
Raoul stood slowly. He had sank to the ground in misery, leaning for supposrt against a wall as he watched the people walk past. They all whispered about the Viscount, and he pretended to ignore them, his head buried in his arms. This went on for many hours, until the sound of carriages thundering past faded into the distance, and all he heard now was wind. Then it wasn't just wind, and now it was scuffling, heart wrenching sobs, moans of agony and dispair that immediately sent Raoul to his feet in time to see a man fall to the ground only a few yards from him. He didn't move, only breathed weakly, as though gasping for air. Panicking, he dashed over to the figure and knelt, shaking him fervently.
"Sir? Sir?!" he said, his voice shrill as he attempted to turn the man over. He was lighter than he had thought, and rolled into the gutter easily. Raoul gasped and leapt back at once, his eyes wide with horror as he caught a glimpse of the man. The mask covering his face was astonishingly familiar, and his heart began to pound in his chest. Why wasn't he moving?! Was the phantom dead?! Taking a deep breath, he walked tentatively over to the still man, liftinh him into a sitting positino and backhanding him across the face. Erik didn't stir, his eyes did not open.
"Erik, get up!" he commanded, his voice taking on something of authority. Erik didn't obey him, and he stood, allowing the man to slump over once more. Pacing and trying to decide what to do, he decided it would be acceptable if he took him home. After all, it was only a short distance from here, and would be easy to carry Erik if need be. Yes, that was the best answer, he would carry the ghost to his home and revive him there. Hearing a carriage in the distance, Raoul stumbled back over to him and hoisted him up, walking shakily down the street and turning into an alley as soon as the carriage rolled onto the street. He staggered under the man's weight, and his knees buckled a few times, sending him crashing to the pavement beneath his feet. It was hard to regain his feet, and he had to use the cramped alley wall to regain his feet again, panting a little.
When he arrived at home, a servant immediately attempted to take Erik, but Raoul would not have it. Shooing him away, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, where he dumped the man uncerimoniously onto the bed. His mask was secured firmly in place, and his legs were spread eagled, his body much more attractive than his face. Raoul only had to avert his eyes as a vivid blush overtook his handsome face. Walking over to Erik, he realised just how shallow his breathing was, and he tapped his shoulder nervously.
"E-erik?" he whispered, and the man stirred feebly. This encouraged Raoul, and he kept up fervent whispers to get him awake.
"Please, Erik, get up!" he pleaded. The phantom didn't move for a minute or two, but then gradually seemed to regain conciousness, and he opened one eye weakly, the side that wasot hidden by a mask. Immediately he shot up in bed to his feet. Much to Raoul's horror, he looked angry and frightened to be here, absolutely terrified.
"What's happening?!" Erik demanded erratically.