Author's Note: This piece is the product of an RPG entitled Forgotten, that I have been working on with a friend of mine, LiYoung on FFN. I felt that it would make a pretty interesting story so I decided to adapt it into a fanfiction. It is set 5 years after the only performance of "Don Juan Triumphant" and Erik's past is Kay-based. Point of view will primarily be Erik's, however some chapters may call for a shift in POVs. Reviews and constructive criticism are both loved and encouraged. :)
Disclaimer: The character of Claude, who will appear in future chapters, is based upon a character created by LiYoung.
Prologue
My soul had left me the last time I saw her face. She had choosen me, in exchange for her lover's life. She had been a martyr for that boy, and for a time, she truly belonged to me. However, the thought of having her internally cursing me for the rest of her days, becoming an emotionless zombie, while her heart and mind longed for him, was something I couldn't bear to live with. If I couldn't have her as my living bride, then I didn't want to sacrifice herself to me out of pity. I let her flee from my life as quickly as she had entered it. As I looked upon her beauty for those last few moments, I could have sworn that there was a sense of sadness in her eyes, however the mind can play tricks.
Christine was everything to me, and the memories of her beauty and her voice would never leave my mind. She deserved better than me, how could I have expected an angel such as her to be forever bonded to a creature like myself. My own mother had hated and neglected me, why did I expect her to be any different? After she left me, I allowed myself to be sucked into a dark abyss of my mind, where I was blinded by my own rage and depression. I destroyed most of my lair; ruining the trivial, material possessions I had aquired over the decades. My persian rugs, jewels, trinkets, daguerreotypes, paintings, inventions, nearly everything. What use would such things have for me, except to rot after I was gone? I destroyed my organ and violin, Christine came into my life through music, so I thought it best to completely remove my connection to it. I burned sheet music, including my magnum opus, my Don Juan Triumphant.
The only area left untouched in my hysteria was Christine's bedroom. As much as she had wounded me, I couldn't bare to destroy it. I took the wedding veil she had left and tossed it onto her bed, taking one last look at what I still had left of my Christine. Her bed sheets were in disarray from where she had slept, a dress lay over her vanity chair, her brushes and combs contained strands of hair from use. I left it all untouched, and turned my back on it all for good, locking the door and tossing the key in the lake. I retreated to my bedroom, and stayed there for days, abstaining from eating, from living, and waited for death.
My Daroga had been present through all of it. I blamed him for getting involved and leading that boy to me. If he hadn't meddled in my affairs, things would have worked, Christine would still be in my life. I would have killed him, should have killed him...but it would have accomplished nothing except to provide more work for me. So instead I decided to kill myself, make myself responsible for my own demise. I already hated myself for the abomination that I was. Everyone I had ever known had grown to hate me and Christine's rejection was the final nail in the coffin. I wanted to make myself suffer, prolong my agony and allow myself to wallow in my own grief. But my Daroga wouldn't allow it and felt the need to save me from myself once again.
He cleaned up my mess, forced me to eat, cared for me when I was ill from lack of nourishment. He assured my managers that the Opera Ghost was dead, and even offered to pay for the reconstruction of the chandelier. The Phantom of the Opera was no more. I was but a mere memory and after five years, the truth of the story became legend which in turn developed into myth. I never existed, even those who I had tormented put the thought of me so far in the back of their mind that they wondered if they had just imagined the whole thing. It seemed that he was doing a better job at making me suffer than I was. The longer I lived, the more I would grow to hate what I had done and what I was. My Daroga had erased me from the world, he had succeed where others had failed and I both admired and hated him all the more for it.
He insisted that I live out the rest of my days in peace, as if it were really possible. He had my organ repaired, replaced much of my furniture, supplied me with food and clothes; he became almost a nursemaid to me. He took it upon himself to move in with me to watch over me, making sure that I wouldn't do harm to myself, like there was much more to do in the first place. I tolerated his presence, amused him with nightly games of chess and played my organ when he asked me. I could be quite obedient when I wanted to be, a trait instilled in me in my youth. However my pessimism and cynical state of mind never left me, and as the years wore on I hated everything and everyone and willed that it all be over soon. Whether my Daroga would allow such a thing was doubtful but he knew that if my will was strong enough, even he wouldn't be able to stop me.