Alright, this is my first fanfic, so don't shoot me… Please? Mmmkay, this is a Les Miserables/ Phantom of the Opera crossover, so it might help if you know the basic storyline for both. Sorry about the insane shortness, but I think each character deserves his or her own chapter. And I will update really fast, with multiple chapters
Chapter one
"uhhn" The world slurred into focus as Erik tried to get a grip on reality. He put a hand up to his forehead and felt something sticky… he liked sticky things, they were fun to get out of… but this was bad. What was it called, and why did his head hurt?
Aisha, where was she? He hadn't fed her in ages. He brought his palm and smashed it into his head, nearly knocking him unconscious. He did not feel the pain.
His mind was immersed in a rather interesting mystery. When he had specifically ordered his right hand to come up and do the punishment, his left hand had risen to the occasion instead. In fact, now that he thought about it, his left hand had come up the first time too. Did it mean something?
Dead! That was why he hurt himself. His cat was probably dead, as he hadn't fed her in forever.
Dead, dead, dead, dead. He knew that word well enough, didn't he call himself the devil of death… no, no, it was the devil's child, it didn't deserve the title of the devil himself… now what was that sticky substance that he had tried so hard to avoid even in death… no other's death, not his own.
Ahhhh, it was clear, or red rather, now. Blood. Like roses, so pretty, but it could hurt you. No, blood couldn't but if you didn't have it, it could hurt you. Where were the thorns? More importantly, why was there blood on him? Who had he hurt this time?
He slowly opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and saw a light off to the far left of him. Was he dead? Lights did not just appear in cellars.
Cellars… it starts with the same letter as Christine, and he loved… who? Who did he love? He had never loved, but obviously he had, or his mind wouldn't have reacted so violently. His mother. No, no he hated his mother.
His mind? Yes his mind. He loved his mind, how it could form coherent thoughts and come up with music… he wondered where his mind was now, his mind named Christine, and why was it not in his head? Was that not where minds were supposed to live? He tried to chuckle, but it came out as a sort of shuddering gasp. His mind gave him one last thought, and then left him entirely, leaving him with only fuzzy gray where thoughts should have been.
He saw a flash of a girl fleeing, and a man leaning over, and then it was all dark. The eternal sleep he had been waiting for, and he wasn't even there to appreciate it.
Please drop by a review, and it will be GREATLY appreciated. I know I haven't mentioned anyone from Les Mis yet, but they're coming, don't worry, along with somewhat normal writing.