Erik's Three
By Kat Beat
Disclaimer
I do not own the Wax Girl, Ayesha, or PotO. Andrew Lloyd Webber and Gaston Leroux own them instead. Jerks.
Claimer
I own the Rats and the prose to this piece.
Summary
Three entities that care for Erik, the Wax Girl, Ayesha, and the cellar Rats, discuss him and their worries for him after he has met Christine and is going through the ordeal.
Author's Note
This piece is written in a very abstract style. Quotation marks are not used. Ayesha speaks in ordinary text. The Wax Girl speaks in italics. The Rats speak in bold.
This may lengthen. Should I keep it as a one shot, or do more of the inanimate objects reactions to other things, like Erik's death, etc.?
Dedication
To Obi, my Sasha and Ayesha rolled into one.
†
The masked man used to smile, once, said Ayesha.
He would laugh and pat your head, remembered the Wax Girl.
And I would purr and twist and sing along when he played.
The masked man doesn't smile anymore. I'm worried about him.
So are we…are we, chimed the Rats.
When he molded me he smiled, sculpting every part of me to its perfection. I remember. He even laughed, sometimes. Now he only laughs when he is bitter or angry or sad.
And he hardly ever smiles.
Ever smiles, ever smiles. We miss when he would train us and play with us, miss it, miss it…
He used to play with me too. We would have merry chases all about the house and lake. The masked man and I. But he's never happy anymore. It all began with the girl with sunlight for her hair…
And specks of blue for her eyes, the eyes we share.
And pink cheeks, pink cheeks, for to kiss…to kiss…so pretty…so pretty…
And then the laughter stopped. Now he mutters about someone constantly.
He's angry. He'll kill someone.
And we will stand with him…with him…
Will the dark man with the jade eyes come to help him and talk to him with soothing voices?
Ha…ha…the dark man is a fool. He tells the masked man never to kill…but the man will kill…he will…
It's true. The dark man cannot help our man now.
No one can.
But can we? Can we?
I am with him. He knows that.
And I.
And we…and we…
But what are we? A cat, a wax girl, and some rats. We cannot protect our masked man from the monster inside himself. We cats know about monsters. There are monsters in all people, but the masked man's monster is biggest. And it shows in his body and fills him all the way up, until you cannot tell whether he is monster or man. But I know there is more man than monster…
It is true. I have seen the man, the gentle man. It's hidden in his crooked smile and his sardonic speech. It's concealed by melancholy. But the gentle one is there, somewhere in our masked man.
Somewhere…somewhere…And it is in the music that we lend our thin voices to…a chorus of rats twining in organ music…we can sing, can sing. Scitter our paws to our own music, dreamlike…dreamlike.
How can we make the human show?
What can we show the world?
I will protect him.
And we.
And I.
But who else?