Authors note: Thank you everyone who is currently reading this! This is my first time ever publishing, please if i make any mistakes or if there is anything i could improve on, do no hesitate to let me know! I truly hope that you will all enjoy my writing. I'm not sure yet if i want to continue with his idea so if you want me to keep writing, please tell me! Thank you again!
Christine's lips slowly parted from the lips of the masked man. This man, her so called Angel of Music, the man that lied to her, the man that she hated with every I fiber of her being. He had pulled away from her desperate advance. Her eyes remained closed for what felt like an eternity, but when her eyelids finally fluttered open she knew it had only been a single fleeting moment. Her mahogany eyes searching, she looked him in the eyes. She looked for any human emotion.
Her gaze was met by something demonic. By his fierce anger. However, she searched harder, desperate to know that the man she had just agreed to marry was in fact capable of compassion. The harder she looked, the more she began to see. His face and body language were characterized by that of neutrality, however, those sea foam green eyes had betrayed him. In his eyes danced an intense whirlpool of emotions. She couldn't remember if she had ever seen anyone so frenzied. The man felt jealous, angry, hateful, and completely out of control. However, somewhere behind all of that Christine could detect a child-like excitement. This revelation made her shudder. He was enjoying this game.
In this moment of their story he was supposed to show her generosity. He was supposed to release her from his demands and let her go. Let her be happy. She shot a stolen glance to Raoul, the Vicomte De Chagny and her loving fiancé, who was still at the masked man's mercy. Still held against the portcullis by the same frayed rope the phantom had captured him with. Still with a noose around his neck that threatened to take the life from his body every time the masked man got too intense and gave it a hard jerk.
Her heart broke at what she saw. Raoul's expression was that of fear. Not for his life, but that he would never see Christine again. Christine blinked her tears away, refusing to cry in front of either of the two men. She had complied with the phantoms demands to keep him alive. However, Raoul did everything in his power to make it clear that he'd rather die than make her suffer through a marriage she did not want.
She was beginning to get lost in thought, and that's when she noticed the masked man in front of her shift to block her view with a low growl which seemed to emanate from deep inside his throat. She pried her eyes from the man she loved and looked at the monster before her. This man. Again his foamy eyes pierced her very soul. She was unsure if she shivered due to the gleam in his eyes, or if it was because she was knee deep in the ice cold waters of this secret underground lake.
He must have noticed her slight shake. "We must go, my love," the phantom said in a deep and seductive purr. His voice tried to tug her mind into a trance, however, the events that were currently transpiring were enough to keep her free from his grip.
She opened her mouth to defy him, to beg for mercy, but instead she only fell silent. a look of utter defeat consumed her expression. He had won and he knew it. Christine felt her throat tighten as his straight face conformed into the closest she had seen to a smile. Just then, the realization hit her. She would never be free again. It was over. She belonged to him.
He grinned devilishly with triumph. Christine was his. The Vicomte De Chagny would never again see his beloved fiancé. He had finally gotten his revenge. He had finally won. It had been nearly six months since the night on the rooftop when what was left of his heart had been broken, and nearly five since he declared war on Christine and Raoul at the cemetery.
In one swift motion he had grabbed Christine by the arm and was pulling her back to the shore of his underground dwelling. Behind him he could hear the Vicomte making threats. The phantom knew that even if the boy escaped, he never stood a chance. Without skipping a beat, he grabbed the closest candle stick and stalked to a line of mirrors. He paused. For a moment he looked around at the room.
The candlelight cast warm light, but the cave was still dark and haunted. It smelled of dust and wax. With that, his heart softened. He knew that he had to leave everything behind. His compositions, his art, his sculptures and books. He knew he could never return. This made his soul ache, but nevertheless he hadn't a choice at this point. He had made his decision on stage and he was very well aware that this was one of the many potential consequences. That was when he had stepped past the point of no return.
However it didn't matter how much he had mentally prepared for his departure, he knew that he was leaving the only place he ever considered a true home. With one final glance around his underground kingdom, he turned to face one of the several mirrors that stood before him. Without releasing his prized Christine, his dominant arm lashed out with the candle stick and struck the first mirror, sending shards of glass down to the ground at his feet. He felt Christine cower at the loud sound. This didn't stop him. He moved to the second mirror.
After that came the third, the fourth, and so on until he reached the final mirror. The Persian clothe that draped over this one was not out of place here. The clothe was draped over several mirrors. He kept them covered so he would not have to remind himself of his fateful deformation. When he pulled the clothe back and struck the final mirror, the sound echoed through the lonely corridors. This time the sound was different. Instead of a solid backing, this mirror hid a tunnel behind its glass.
With Christine whimpering hateful words in his grasp, Erik slipped away into the darkness of the tunnel and allowed the clothe to fall back into place, concealing his secret passage from the fools that would enter his liar less than a week later. All of the broken glass would lead them to believe that behind the red fabric was only yet another broken mirror. Little did they know.