Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom; I'm just a humble phan. Although, I
wish that I owned Erik, but that's beside the point. *Sigh*
Author's Notes: I've been reading phanfics for months now, and I have finally decided to try to write my own. I hope you enjoy it, even if it's a first effort.
Feedback: Please! (I need to know if I'm even in the ballpark.:)
*Erik's POV*
My eyes slowly flickered open; the dense haze that surrounded me slowly dissipated and I stared up into the darkness. I lay there motionless, vulnerable, and it scared me. That seemed quite ironic. My life had been a twisted jumble of pain and torment, but yet, I had never felt this fear before, and I didn't even know the source of my trepidation. Something was terribly wrong; I could sense it. Instinctively, I sat up.
That proved to be a very bad idea.
My head erupted into a fiery agony; I could hear the cacophony of my mind throbbing. An exquisite symphony of vibrant pain - at another time I would have found that intriguing, but now, I could do nothing but slowly lay back on my pillows. As I moved, I could feel a bandage wrapped tightly around my ribs, the rest of my chest bare against the cool, slippery satin of the sheets.
That's when it hit me. I was in a bed, not my coffin. More than that, as I glanced to my left, I could see an impressive armoire - her armoire - and I knew, I was in her room.
It seemed thoroughly impossible; since that fateful day when I set her free two months ago I had avoided this room with a cold dread. Sometimes, in the beginning, when I felt especially daring and emboldened, I would walk up to the door, resting my head against the oak paneling, listening for her voice - her song. It always ended the same way - more tears and more pain. No cold, inanimate door and the promise of the shrine that lay behind it could fill the void she had left in my heart. Eventually, I learned to stay away, to let my love lay enshrined behind that door as the pain consumed me. Even I can only take so much.
Now, now I was in her room, in her bed, injured and weak. It dawned on me slowly, silently, if I was here, and my wounds were dressed, someone else had been responsible for it. I felt utterly helpless, completely powerless; I didn't know what to think. True, I was hurt, but I was safe, cared for, even. My mind was slowly being consumed by the same intense pain I had felt before, and I squeezed my eyes tightly closed. It was too much for me all at once, and a choked sob escaped my lips, tears flowed freely from my eyes.
I heard a small noise from across the room, the soft bustle of fabric and the quiet patter of soft, feminine footsteps. A smooth, trembling hand brushed against the exposed portion of my forehead. A small whisper came tumbling down from Heaven, and an angel called my name, "Erik."
Steeling my resolve against the pain, I opened my eyes, and looked up at a miracle.
I tried to speak, but my voice, for once, failed me. She saw my distress, and she gently ran her hand down my cheek, until her soft fingers covered my lips. Suddenly, with her touch, the pain seemed a distant memory.
"It's alright, Erik," she said in the same concerned whisper, "you were injured, but you're going to be okay. You simply need to rest; I promise I won't leave you while you sleep. I will explain everything when you wake."
I nodded feebly, staring up in awe and shock. Impulsively, it seemed, she sat next to me and took my hand, and speaking in a tremulous voice, she added, "You need to get better. . .for me. Please rest."
Feeling suddenly empowered, I spoke, the words coming with great effort, "For you, the world, Christine."
She smiled a small, tired smile, "I know, Erik, but you need to rest for me. . ."
Understanding, I closed my eyes, and allowed Morpheus to weave his wonderful spell over my weary senses. Sleep came quickly, and in my dreams, Christine invaded my dreams.
To be continued. . .the next chapter will clarify this one, and provide more insight into the background.
Author's Notes: I've been reading phanfics for months now, and I have finally decided to try to write my own. I hope you enjoy it, even if it's a first effort.
Feedback: Please! (I need to know if I'm even in the ballpark.:)
*Erik's POV*
My eyes slowly flickered open; the dense haze that surrounded me slowly dissipated and I stared up into the darkness. I lay there motionless, vulnerable, and it scared me. That seemed quite ironic. My life had been a twisted jumble of pain and torment, but yet, I had never felt this fear before, and I didn't even know the source of my trepidation. Something was terribly wrong; I could sense it. Instinctively, I sat up.
That proved to be a very bad idea.
My head erupted into a fiery agony; I could hear the cacophony of my mind throbbing. An exquisite symphony of vibrant pain - at another time I would have found that intriguing, but now, I could do nothing but slowly lay back on my pillows. As I moved, I could feel a bandage wrapped tightly around my ribs, the rest of my chest bare against the cool, slippery satin of the sheets.
That's when it hit me. I was in a bed, not my coffin. More than that, as I glanced to my left, I could see an impressive armoire - her armoire - and I knew, I was in her room.
It seemed thoroughly impossible; since that fateful day when I set her free two months ago I had avoided this room with a cold dread. Sometimes, in the beginning, when I felt especially daring and emboldened, I would walk up to the door, resting my head against the oak paneling, listening for her voice - her song. It always ended the same way - more tears and more pain. No cold, inanimate door and the promise of the shrine that lay behind it could fill the void she had left in my heart. Eventually, I learned to stay away, to let my love lay enshrined behind that door as the pain consumed me. Even I can only take so much.
Now, now I was in her room, in her bed, injured and weak. It dawned on me slowly, silently, if I was here, and my wounds were dressed, someone else had been responsible for it. I felt utterly helpless, completely powerless; I didn't know what to think. True, I was hurt, but I was safe, cared for, even. My mind was slowly being consumed by the same intense pain I had felt before, and I squeezed my eyes tightly closed. It was too much for me all at once, and a choked sob escaped my lips, tears flowed freely from my eyes.
I heard a small noise from across the room, the soft bustle of fabric and the quiet patter of soft, feminine footsteps. A smooth, trembling hand brushed against the exposed portion of my forehead. A small whisper came tumbling down from Heaven, and an angel called my name, "Erik."
Steeling my resolve against the pain, I opened my eyes, and looked up at a miracle.
I tried to speak, but my voice, for once, failed me. She saw my distress, and she gently ran her hand down my cheek, until her soft fingers covered my lips. Suddenly, with her touch, the pain seemed a distant memory.
"It's alright, Erik," she said in the same concerned whisper, "you were injured, but you're going to be okay. You simply need to rest; I promise I won't leave you while you sleep. I will explain everything when you wake."
I nodded feebly, staring up in awe and shock. Impulsively, it seemed, she sat next to me and took my hand, and speaking in a tremulous voice, she added, "You need to get better. . .for me. Please rest."
Feeling suddenly empowered, I spoke, the words coming with great effort, "For you, the world, Christine."
She smiled a small, tired smile, "I know, Erik, but you need to rest for me. . ."
Understanding, I closed my eyes, and allowed Morpheus to weave his wonderful spell over my weary senses. Sleep came quickly, and in my dreams, Christine invaded my dreams.
To be continued. . .the next chapter will clarify this one, and provide more insight into the background.