Dislaimer: If you're looking for the owners of the Phantom of the Opera,
you're in the wrong place. I just do this for my own amusement and the
amusement of others. I only wish I was making money off of this...
A/N: This is crazy. Seriously. I have no idea where this is going or how it'll end up, maybe it'll just stay right here. If you don't like angst, get out *now.* Otherwise, hope you enjoy!
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Insanity and Redemption (by AngelCeleste85)
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It was agony, watching her go away for the last time. Watching her slip her hand through another man's arm.
White-hot agony, like a knife being twisted in his heart.
The masked man knelt on the carpet, broken in heart and in spirit as his body had so often been broken before.
"Masquerade..." he whispered, like a music box stuck on one word... as if the little Persian monkey-with-cymbals ever got stuck. But that was preposterous, he'd built it, hadn't he? Nothing he built ever broke...
Though it seemed that sometimes what God himself made could break.
Even God's work wasn't perfect. Nor was he. Nor was the angel he had set on a gleaming marble pedestal far above his head.
"Masquerade..." the broken man whispered. He couldn't seem to think past that word anymore, his world had narrowed to the few inches of fiery red carpet laced with such intricate patterns only a few millimeters from his eyes... Fallen. When had he fallen? He had no idea. Fallen angel, falling into redness like fire, like blood...
Blood? It was only a rug...
He loved the twisted maze of the rugs. They were always imperfect, somehow. Always one tiny flaw... because only Allah was perfect, where these rugs had come from. Some of them, the flaw was so craftily hidden that he'd not found them yet, not in – what was he thinking?
Rugs. Part of him wanted to laugh at the sheer idiocy of the topic his mind had chosen to dwell on after losing her. The insanity. But then, he was quite insane, wasn't he? He had to be, he'd all but driven the center of his universe away... could feel himself spiraling out on an uncontrollable course to the edge...
But it was true. God himself was not perfect, it seemed. He couldn't make a face without a disfigurement. He couldn't make a heart that wouldn't break.
That was nonsense, the masquerade was over. Christine knew the truth now. She had made her choice, just like he'd demanded, and her choice had been another lie! She'd kissed him as a bribe, while all the while her eyes spoke of Raoul de Chagny!
Always another betrayal, always another knife in the back.
So why did this one, of all that he had endured so far, tear open and burn his heart?
When he reached the edge of his universe, he knew, he would fall off the edge and plummet for eternity...
"Down that path in to darkness deep as Hell..." he whispered through dry, cracked lips.
No, he was already in Hell now... falling would just push him deeper than that.
Were there really abysses so deep that not even Satan held sway there?
He forced a half-hearted cackle. Yes. The depths of a madman's mind.
Oh, yes, he had definitely gone over the edge now. It made him laugh harder. So this was what it felt like to be off the deep end.
Maybe God couldn't make an unbreakable heart, but Erik could... Hadn't he done it before, in those rosy hours of Mazenderan?
He tried getting up. And fell. He tried again. And again he fell. There was a dry rasping in his ears, like a demon's laughter. It took him a moment to realize that that was himself, laughing too hard to be able to rise...
~*~*~*~*~
Fin
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Feedback please? This was very strange, I have idea if it will go any further yet but I will take suggestions! Thank you. ::opens wide::
- AC
A/N: This is crazy. Seriously. I have no idea where this is going or how it'll end up, maybe it'll just stay right here. If you don't like angst, get out *now.* Otherwise, hope you enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Insanity and Redemption (by AngelCeleste85)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was agony, watching her go away for the last time. Watching her slip her hand through another man's arm.
White-hot agony, like a knife being twisted in his heart.
The masked man knelt on the carpet, broken in heart and in spirit as his body had so often been broken before.
"Masquerade..." he whispered, like a music box stuck on one word... as if the little Persian monkey-with-cymbals ever got stuck. But that was preposterous, he'd built it, hadn't he? Nothing he built ever broke...
Though it seemed that sometimes what God himself made could break.
Even God's work wasn't perfect. Nor was he. Nor was the angel he had set on a gleaming marble pedestal far above his head.
"Masquerade..." the broken man whispered. He couldn't seem to think past that word anymore, his world had narrowed to the few inches of fiery red carpet laced with such intricate patterns only a few millimeters from his eyes... Fallen. When had he fallen? He had no idea. Fallen angel, falling into redness like fire, like blood...
Blood? It was only a rug...
He loved the twisted maze of the rugs. They were always imperfect, somehow. Always one tiny flaw... because only Allah was perfect, where these rugs had come from. Some of them, the flaw was so craftily hidden that he'd not found them yet, not in – what was he thinking?
Rugs. Part of him wanted to laugh at the sheer idiocy of the topic his mind had chosen to dwell on after losing her. The insanity. But then, he was quite insane, wasn't he? He had to be, he'd all but driven the center of his universe away... could feel himself spiraling out on an uncontrollable course to the edge...
But it was true. God himself was not perfect, it seemed. He couldn't make a face without a disfigurement. He couldn't make a heart that wouldn't break.
That was nonsense, the masquerade was over. Christine knew the truth now. She had made her choice, just like he'd demanded, and her choice had been another lie! She'd kissed him as a bribe, while all the while her eyes spoke of Raoul de Chagny!
Always another betrayal, always another knife in the back.
So why did this one, of all that he had endured so far, tear open and burn his heart?
When he reached the edge of his universe, he knew, he would fall off the edge and plummet for eternity...
"Down that path in to darkness deep as Hell..." he whispered through dry, cracked lips.
No, he was already in Hell now... falling would just push him deeper than that.
Were there really abysses so deep that not even Satan held sway there?
He forced a half-hearted cackle. Yes. The depths of a madman's mind.
Oh, yes, he had definitely gone over the edge now. It made him laugh harder. So this was what it felt like to be off the deep end.
Maybe God couldn't make an unbreakable heart, but Erik could... Hadn't he done it before, in those rosy hours of Mazenderan?
He tried getting up. And fell. He tried again. And again he fell. There was a dry rasping in his ears, like a demon's laughter. It took him a moment to realize that that was himself, laughing too hard to be able to rise...
~*~*~*~*~
Fin
~*~*~*~*~
Feedback please? This was very strange, I have idea if it will go any further yet but I will take suggestions! Thank you. ::opens wide::
- AC