Fading Roses
Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera, the one I'm using, belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Author's Note: I just saw Phantom live for the first time, and… and… Erik needs a hug!!! v.v Poor Phantom… Anyway, I felt compelled to write this, so yeah… I did…
"Go now - go now and leave me!"
The words wrenched themselves out of his mouth, and before he knew it, she had gone. She was gone.
A half-suppressed impulse jerked his body with grief, and the Phantom of the Opera, for the briefest of moments, jumped to run after them. But then he thought of her eyes as she looked at Raoul, and the change in them when she gazed at him.
Another spasm wracked him, this time of rage and helplessness. 'He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing.'
"Christine! Christine… I love you!" The words again burst from his lips, the mouth so hideously deformed. How could words so beautiful spring from a beast, sounding as exquisite as if they were from a face fitting their sounds? As if from her own…
"I love you!" Erik called once more to the night.
Ah, the night. His friend and companion. Cloak and home to him. Darkness mothered him, raised him, and tutored him.
Memories raced through his reeling mind- Caged, free, cold, hungry, finding this place, his home… His darkness…
He turned suddenly to find her there. She took his ring off her finger and offered it back to him. Erik took it, touching her fingers one last time, before Christine turned and fled.
The Phantom stumbled to his throne, his limbs refusing to obey. His heart reeled madly, commanding, begging, pleading for him to turn back and go after her. His mind, master by a thread, forced him to his throne. He drew his cloak over himself… and disappeared, with a faint, whispered sigh of, "Christine, I love you…"
~*~
Meg Giry, her heart pounding in unsuppressed fear, ran under the portcullis. She gazed around the Phantom's lair, her eyes wide with fright. Slowly, she walked to a throne like chair. A cloak lay over it, and under that, the figure of a man. A strange impulse from deep within forced her to throw the cloak off.
The throne sat empty, but for a small, white mask.
Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera, the one I'm using, belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Author's Note: I just saw Phantom live for the first time, and… and… Erik needs a hug!!! v.v Poor Phantom… Anyway, I felt compelled to write this, so yeah… I did…
"Go now - go now and leave me!"
The words wrenched themselves out of his mouth, and before he knew it, she had gone. She was gone.
A half-suppressed impulse jerked his body with grief, and the Phantom of the Opera, for the briefest of moments, jumped to run after them. But then he thought of her eyes as she looked at Raoul, and the change in them when she gazed at him.
Another spasm wracked him, this time of rage and helplessness. 'He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing.'
"Christine! Christine… I love you!" The words again burst from his lips, the mouth so hideously deformed. How could words so beautiful spring from a beast, sounding as exquisite as if they were from a face fitting their sounds? As if from her own…
"I love you!" Erik called once more to the night.
Ah, the night. His friend and companion. Cloak and home to him. Darkness mothered him, raised him, and tutored him.
Memories raced through his reeling mind- Caged, free, cold, hungry, finding this place, his home… His darkness…
He turned suddenly to find her there. She took his ring off her finger and offered it back to him. Erik took it, touching her fingers one last time, before Christine turned and fled.
The Phantom stumbled to his throne, his limbs refusing to obey. His heart reeled madly, commanding, begging, pleading for him to turn back and go after her. His mind, master by a thread, forced him to his throne. He drew his cloak over himself… and disappeared, with a faint, whispered sigh of, "Christine, I love you…"
~*~
Meg Giry, her heart pounding in unsuppressed fear, ran under the portcullis. She gazed around the Phantom's lair, her eyes wide with fright. Slowly, she walked to a throne like chair. A cloak lay over it, and under that, the figure of a man. A strange impulse from deep within forced her to throw the cloak off.
The throne sat empty, but for a small, white mask.