Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. If I did then Kat would hurt me. She has the actual person…for her own use.
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"I can't see anything anymore."
Christine Daae was at her mirror, looking at her reflection. Studying her pale form, taking in her depression. Three years, three years it had been since she had gone with Raoul. Three years since she had broken the only person that had ever understood her. Three years since she started her self-destruction.
"Raoul," She called. "Raoul, are you there?"
Convincing herself that he indeed wasn't there, she got up and brushed off her dress.
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The Phantom of the Opera sat quiet and alone. The only sounds around him were the dripping of the water around him and the sound of his mask pealing from his flesh.
He ran his fingers over the scars on his face. The smooth running into ridges. Suddenly, he sank his fingernails into his skin and screamed. "Why!" He punched the mirror in front of him. Glass shattered around him, dug into him, made him bleed. He looked down at his hands blood seeping from the small scratches in his palms. And there it was…the laughter. That insane, never-ending, screaming laughter.
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Christine slowly made her way up the hallway to Raoul's bathroom.
"Oh Erik…I never understand what I did. And-And now I'm turning cold." She reached into the medicine cabinet and withdrew Raoul's razor. She faltered for a moment but turned to look at her reflection. Her eyes, those eyes that were once so full of life, were blank. They were dark, and lifeless, they weren't even eyes…they were holes of nothingness.
She gathered all of her strength, turned, and locked the door.
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He pressed his palms to his face and felt the cuts burn. He slowly pulled his hands down over his face and caught his reflection in a piece of glass. There was a red mask of blood over his entire face. There were little crescent moons were his fingernails had dug into his flesh. And he laughed again.
"Finally the mask has been removed, the scars have been replaced, and the blood has been shed. Finally I bleed for you Christine. Is that what you wanted me to do? I have bled for you!"
His insane cackling ceased and he took the little piece of glass in his hand. He began to shake as he threw the glass across the room and heard it shatter.
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Christine looked into the razor and a ghost stared back. She smiled. A ghost, she laughed, a ghost I have become. To match the ghost I had, to match the ghost I lost .
She was certain for the first time in a long time, that this was the right thing to do. Christine shakingly took the razor, pressed it to her porcelain skin, and looked away. She bit her lip and dragged the razor in a straight line across her wrist.
Tears pressed at her eyes, but she pressed back. She was sure that after all she had done, she deserved this agony, this pain. She deserved to die.
The small soprano looked at the razor and saw her blood dripping from the edge. Strangely, she didn't care. She took the razor in her bleeding hand and roughly cut the other wrist.
The pain seared but she wouldn't cry. She didn't deserve to cry. She could feel warm blood on her skin, but she didn't dare look down.
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"I was not good enough for you!" The opera ghost screamed, breaking anything in his reach. He grabbed the head of the swan that he slept on and snapped its neck. He threw the head across the lake and heard it land with a clunk at the bottom. He looked at his reflection in the rippling water. "I was not whole enough for you!" He slammed his bleeding hands into the water to dismember the reflection.
"I BLED FOR YOU!" he screamed again. He whorled around and ripped the head off of the porcelain mannequin of Christine. "I CONTINUE TO BLEED FOR YOU!" and he smashed the head on the floor. He heard it shatter and turned pale. Erik looked down at the pile of broken pieces on the floor. He fell to his knees and picked up a piece, the piece where he had captured the beauty and life of her eye. The piece where he had so tenderly painted that loving expression that he hoped she would shed on him one day. He looked down at it and smirked. Then, without warning he threw it into the lake.
"It seems you have bled for me too."
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Christine's breathing was getting heavy. Her pupil's were dilated, and she was sweating profusely. Yet all she felt was cold.
"For-forgive me father…fo-for I…I hav-have sinned." She gulped. She had killed him. She knew she killed him. "For-for-forgive-give me." She dissolved into sobbed and buried her head in her hands. Warm blood dripped down her face and neck. Blood seeped into her open mouth and she gagged. She clutched her stomach and saw blood staining her delicate brown dress. As she felt the warm blood seeping on to her stomach, she heard the latch on the front door click…Raoul was home.
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The Phantom of the Opera sat at his organ, playing a mournful tune. He was calm and composed but his face was clenched and tight. His taught eyes held no joy, as they had when he had once thought of her. But there was no sadness either. There was nothingness. His eyes were blank; empty but there was a glimmer of hope. Hope that tomorrow would indeed be another day.
He stopped playing abruptly and took the bottle of absinthe from the table next to his instrument. He took a deep swig, taking in more and more, drowning the pain and madness, washing everything away.
He turned around to observe a large fire in the middle of his underground lair. Instead of immediately running to do something, he stopped and stared. He had, after all started the fire. He observed every single fragment that he had of Christine slowly burning away. He saw the pictures, the porcelain dolls, the music, even the miniature's of her and the stage, slowly incinerating in the large inferno.
He took another long swig from the bottle and then threw the alcohol in as well. The substance made the fire roar, twist and turn even more then it had been. The Opera ghost turned his back and went to his bedside. There he found a small jewelry box where he kept his most precious items. He removed from the box; the playbill from Hannibal, Christine's glove from Il Mutto, a rose from Don Juan, and finally Christine's engagement ring. The ring that she had so lovingly bestowed unto him the night she left.
Erik turned back to the fire and very calmly tossed each and every object into the roaring fire pit, save the ring. He looked down at it and saw the fire reflected in its crystalline surface. The Opera Ghost turned his back to the fire, still examining the ring. He placed the ring in his scratched palm. Then madness filled his face.
"I will bleed for you no more, Christine."
And without looking back, Phantom of the Opera smirked, threw the ring into the fire, and walked back to his organ.
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She heard Raoul's footsteps echoing through the large house. He called her name once, but it just made her wince. Christine looked down at herself, she was covered in blood. She caught her reflection in the mirror, her face caked with drying blood from her wrists. And then she made her choice, she finally examined the cuts.
Strange, she thought, who would have thought such a sight would make me glad.
She heard Raoul call her name again, she turned and looked at the razor. Christine grabbed it and smirked. She re-opened the cut, but this time she cut deeper, until she could feel her muscle getting sawed away at. She looked down and saw blood welling over the top of her wrists. Flowing and sweeping away her fears. She did the same thing to her other wrist. And she sat there and watched herself bleed.
"These little things I've done have hurt you."
She made another incision on her right arm, an inch above the last cut.
"These little things I've done have caused you pain."
She mimicked her motions on her left arm. Her breathing was getting heavy and the room was starting to spin.
"These little things I've done have made you miserable!"
Two more cuts were made on each arm. And the razor clattered to the floor. Raoul's footsteps were getting closer.
"These little things I've done have made you bleed!"
She slid onto her knees, watching herself bleeding. Kneeling on the floor she started to cry and laugh at the same time.
"These little things I-I've…"
She swooned and landed with a thud on the floor.
"These…little…things…I've…done…have…they've killed you! And they…the finally killed me too." She said in a voice hardly above a whisper. Her eyes weren't focusing right, her head was spinning.
"Christine!" Called a voice. Raoul banged at the door. "Christine what's going on in there!" He yelled. Christine heard the door clattering and the doorknob rattling, Raoul desperately trying to get to her.
"Oh Erik…" She said weakly. "I…I can't see anything anymore."
And the world slowly twisted into darkness.
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I know... kinda depressing but I like it.. Read and review plz!