Disclaimer: Do I look like Gaston Leroux to /you/?????
A/N- Due to the success of "Love," my story about Erik's first Christmas, I decided to write another short story concerning his childhood. Mostly dear Phantom Aria, who always leaves positive reviews, and always writes beautiful poetry, prompted this. Thanks to PA.
Another A/N- This also goes with the whole thing that in "Love," Erik saw a very E/C future.
Thanks, maelinya, for your assistance! It's really appreciated.
"In Dreams She Came" by the Phantom Parisienne
I pressed my palms to the cool glass and took in the view of the children playing in the square of the little town in the sweltering heat. My hands felt clammy and sweaty against the perfect sheet of (what seemed to be) ice. The summer, every child's favourite time of year, was pure torture to me. The season of heat was no different than the season of frost; I was condemned to stay indoors, alone. Always alone. Other children had the pleasure of the company of their siblings and friends. I had neither brothers nor sisters, and his or her mother immediately dragged the first child who dared to become my companion home.
It had happened several times.
I found solace in my music and in my sleep. Mother permitted me to play the piano, and it was the piano that floated me away from the world. Music...music was the comforter of a lonely child, and it is now the plaything of a ghost. While creating my glorious music, I could pretend I was far away: the melodies seemed to tell stories to me. Emotions seemed to leap from simple black and white notes.
My sleep was a curious thing. My dreams were so real; so divinely believable and uplifting... They were of a perfect life; the perfect life that I knew I would never have. They always focused on one woman. . .her name was Christine Daaé. Why she took such a central rôle in my dreams, I did not know for well over forty years. All I knew was that she was my Angel, and she called me hers.
That night as I lay in bed, I tossed and turned, unable to find a cool spot on my cot. The heat filled the air and seemed to choke the life out of anyone brave (or foolish) enough to step into it. It could be compared to being placed inside of an oversized oven. Twisting and turning to find the proper position to sleep, I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them in a whole new world.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
The sun lowered into the horizon, a beautiful palette of purples, pinks, and oranges splashed across the sky. Clouds drifted through the air, creating a greyish curtain soon illuminated by the rainbow of the sun. The sweltering heat seemed different in my dream...somehow...peaceful, and calming. It was not the blazing inferno of the terrible house. I closed my eyes in bliss, letting the wonderful feeling of the sunset and the warmth of the summer sink in. /This/ was the kind of life that I read about in books; a happy, joyful life where everything was as planned and expected. My mother deprived me of that kind of life, and I found my sweet salvation in sleep.
My hand rested on a huge stone gargoyle, and from the corners of my eyes I saw a huge statue, most likely of the Greek god Apollo, clutching a lyre... A dazzling city spread before my eyes, the hustle and bustle a welcome relief from the abysmal silence of the cursed house. I recognized it from the maps in the library as Paris, the city of love.
I felt Christine's small, yet comforting hand on my shoulder. "Good evening, Erik," she said as she stepped up beside me, her gaze trained on the exquisite sunset. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yes, Christine...very beautiful." My voice wavered, as it always did around her. There was something about Christine that made me feel...different; loved; like I was a human, and not a monster my mother told me I was.
"Just like your soul," she whispered in my ear as she leaned her head on my shoulder, that rose-scented perfume once again wafting from the golden tendrils snaking down our backs.
.
.
.
A/N- Short, I know, but who doesn't lurve little Erik!?!? *huggles him* Review, s'il vous plait!
A/N- Due to the success of "Love," my story about Erik's first Christmas, I decided to write another short story concerning his childhood. Mostly dear Phantom Aria, who always leaves positive reviews, and always writes beautiful poetry, prompted this. Thanks to PA.
Another A/N- This also goes with the whole thing that in "Love," Erik saw a very E/C future.
Thanks, maelinya, for your assistance! It's really appreciated.
"In Dreams She Came" by the Phantom Parisienne
I pressed my palms to the cool glass and took in the view of the children playing in the square of the little town in the sweltering heat. My hands felt clammy and sweaty against the perfect sheet of (what seemed to be) ice. The summer, every child's favourite time of year, was pure torture to me. The season of heat was no different than the season of frost; I was condemned to stay indoors, alone. Always alone. Other children had the pleasure of the company of their siblings and friends. I had neither brothers nor sisters, and his or her mother immediately dragged the first child who dared to become my companion home.
It had happened several times.
I found solace in my music and in my sleep. Mother permitted me to play the piano, and it was the piano that floated me away from the world. Music...music was the comforter of a lonely child, and it is now the plaything of a ghost. While creating my glorious music, I could pretend I was far away: the melodies seemed to tell stories to me. Emotions seemed to leap from simple black and white notes.
My sleep was a curious thing. My dreams were so real; so divinely believable and uplifting... They were of a perfect life; the perfect life that I knew I would never have. They always focused on one woman. . .her name was Christine Daaé. Why she took such a central rôle in my dreams, I did not know for well over forty years. All I knew was that she was my Angel, and she called me hers.
That night as I lay in bed, I tossed and turned, unable to find a cool spot on my cot. The heat filled the air and seemed to choke the life out of anyone brave (or foolish) enough to step into it. It could be compared to being placed inside of an oversized oven. Twisting and turning to find the proper position to sleep, I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them in a whole new world.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
The sun lowered into the horizon, a beautiful palette of purples, pinks, and oranges splashed across the sky. Clouds drifted through the air, creating a greyish curtain soon illuminated by the rainbow of the sun. The sweltering heat seemed different in my dream...somehow...peaceful, and calming. It was not the blazing inferno of the terrible house. I closed my eyes in bliss, letting the wonderful feeling of the sunset and the warmth of the summer sink in. /This/ was the kind of life that I read about in books; a happy, joyful life where everything was as planned and expected. My mother deprived me of that kind of life, and I found my sweet salvation in sleep.
My hand rested on a huge stone gargoyle, and from the corners of my eyes I saw a huge statue, most likely of the Greek god Apollo, clutching a lyre... A dazzling city spread before my eyes, the hustle and bustle a welcome relief from the abysmal silence of the cursed house. I recognized it from the maps in the library as Paris, the city of love.
I felt Christine's small, yet comforting hand on my shoulder. "Good evening, Erik," she said as she stepped up beside me, her gaze trained on the exquisite sunset. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yes, Christine...very beautiful." My voice wavered, as it always did around her. There was something about Christine that made me feel...different; loved; like I was a human, and not a monster my mother told me I was.
"Just like your soul," she whispered in my ear as she leaned her head on my shoulder, that rose-scented perfume once again wafting from the golden tendrils snaking down our backs.
.
.
.
A/N- Short, I know, but who doesn't lurve little Erik!?!? *huggles him* Review, s'il vous plait!