**disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the opera. I'm not sure who it belongs to at the moment, but it's not me.**
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His fingers caressed each key sending notes of pure beauty pouring from the old pipe organ. It was an old song, comfortingly familiar and unique. In the darkness of his surroundings the music was his only beacon of light. Without even truly meaning to, his voice rose to match the notes he played. He heard it rising and falling in perfect unison with the melody, serving as a perfect accompaniment. Caught up completely in the song, Erik momentarily forgot his life and all the gruesome details of the night's events.
Christine sang wonderfully well this night. Her voice was almost perfect. Soon she would no longer require his interference to acquire leading roles. Unfortunately, the fad of the moment was overbearing, screeching sopranos. Erik had tried to wait patiently for the fad to end, but with the arrival of Christine, he knew his days of painful headaches brought on by Carlotta's singing would finally be at an end. If she would only listen to him…
As his thoughts turned to Christine more and more, his concentration wavered and the music began to suffer for it. He abruptly stopped playing and rested his head in his waiting hands.
"Christine…" he muttered almost angrily. His eyes darted around the room suddenly and he could not repress the sadistic smile as his eyes rested on the unconscious body of the Vicomte de Changy. The foolish man had followed Christine one night as she came to visit Erik. Erik had pretended not to notice him, but as soon as Christine had gone, Erik had pounced. The man had threatened Erik with death if Erik did not release Christine.
"Release her, monsieur? From what, pray tell? She is my guest. And my student."
"Liar!" He had screamed as he lunged at Erik. Erik contemplated the situation. He wanted to kill the man for violating his privacy, he needed to kill him, but something kept him from doing it. Was he finally getting sick of blood shed? It was his hesitation that caused the Vicomte to miss and accidentally tear the mask from his face. Than man had caught a glimpse of Erik's mangled face and passed out.
In a rage Erik had bound the Vicomte to the wall. Out of spite more than anything else, Erik had smashed a bottle of wine over the man's head. The sight of the blood mingled with the wine comforted him slightly. He replaced the mask absently as he wandered to his pipe organ to begin his nightly playing.
Christine was due any minute. He smiled in memory of her sweet face, but as he smiled he felt the mask and could not stop himself from raising a hand to it. It was a perfect mold of a man's face and purely white. She had held it once. She'd been frightened then, and yet although she knew his hideousness, she always came back to him.
His eyes flick back to the Vicomte. She knows him also, possibly even loves him. Erik's thoughts turn dark, but he is interrupted.
"Erik, did you hear me tonight?" Her voice floats in from the doorway. "It was all so nearly perfect! Carlotta said…" but when she saw the Vicomte she stopped in alarm. "Raoul?!"
"So, his name is Raoul…" Erik scowls, but the mask prevents Christine from noticing. She rushes to Raoul's side and proceeds to try to wake him. Erik does not stop her. He sulks as he watches the Vicomte gradually regain consciousness.
"Raoul! What are you doing here? O Erik, why is he bleeding? What have you done?"
"Christine…" Raoul's voice is groggy.
"O my love!" Christine whimpers.
Erik stands watching as Christine embraces the Vicomte again and again. No, he thinks to himself. No.
"He was trespassing. He will die."
"Have mercy!" Christine wailed.
"Mercy?" Erik muttered. "What a funny idea. I am shunned and feared, forced to live in shadows for no other reason than my questionable physical appearance. But I received not one shred of mercy. And this man commits an actual crime and I am to be merciful. And why is that? Because he is handsome…?"
Christine is silent. Erik tries to meet her gaze but her eyes are for Raoul only. Erik smiles.
"I see. Because you do love him." Christine raises her eyes to Erik's and nods.
"I love him more than life itself." She tells him in that superb voice of hers. Erik's mouth twitches a little when he hears it. So much promise… He doesn't hear her treacherous words for a moment, but only that crystal voice. But it's not for him. No, she wasn't singing for him. Not tonight.
"Love, Christine?" His voice is weak. "You love him more than life itself, Christine?" He starts forward toward the pair. From the folds of his ever-present cape he produces a dagger. "Do you know what the most perfect kind of love is?" he asks faintly.
"Erik…?" Christine is weary.
"Perfection, Christine. What is the most perfect kind of love? It is a simple question requiring only your opinion." Erik kneels beside her and the bound, helpless Raoul.
"Don't answer Christine! He's trying to trick you somehow." Raoul desperately tries to move away from Erik, but Erik pays him no mind.
"Tell me." he demands of Christine.
"T-true love." She tells him defiantly. There is a moment of silence as Erik stares hard at Christine, but she doesn't waver in her defiance. Erik sighs.
"Wrong answer, Christine." He whispers as he plunges his dagger deep into Raoul's chest. He forces the blade into the body again and again. Raoul has become a pulsing, squirting mass of blood and tissue. Christine, her mouth gaping, only stares at her former lover as he dies silently and painfully.
Erik stabs once more and leaves the dagger impaled. He flashes a quick, reassuring smile at Christine as he stands and walks back to his pipe organ, his one and only true friend. As he sits, he places his hands gently on the keys and closes his eyes.
"Do you want to know the correct answer, dear? The only perfect love is the love one harbors for the dead or for someone so unattainable actual love is unreal. It is more lasting and sincere than so-called true love. Endless desire, a driving endless desire…"
He turned to look at her. She was covered in blood, her hands especially. She stared at her hands, clasped them together.
"You and I are the same now." He whispered to himself. The music was calling to him suddenly, and he had to answer. "Come," he commanded her. "We've wasted enough time tonight as it is. Now, sing…"