*miles long disclaimer coming right up*
If you like, skip over this next bit. It's a disclaimer to serve through the whole story, so I may have gone a bit over the top. I'm nothing if not thorough I guess.
Right, so I guess it's about time I start remembering to do this. I do not own anything in this story other then the story idea. All characters belong to Gaston Leroux, and any lyrics I insert do not belong to me, but probably to Andrew Lloyd Webber (who I had a lot more respect for before Love Never Dies and The Phantom of Manhattan.) or a(n) otherwise stated artist(s). This disclaimer goes for the whole story, however long it winds up being. Also, any quotes (recognizable to any who have read Leroux's book) primarily in the prologue, are not mine and belong to the brilliant if dead Gaston Leroux.
Enjoy, I hope.
-Happy Whatever
Tears burning with suppressed rage slid down Erik's face, pooling at the bottom of his mask, choking him. Tears that held so much more than just despair- tears that encompassed his life, his anger, his pain, and the brief joy he'd felt with Christine. As he shed his amber gaze a final time of the once polished floor, he lifted the instrument with a disturbing readiness...
"Make your choice! The wedding mass or the requiem mass!" His powerful voice seems somehow less commanding as Erik issued the options to his Angel. Some life seemed to have been drained from it, like his soul was slowly unravelling as time went by. It lowered to a darker, more dangerous tone and continued.
"The requiem mass is not very cheerful whereas the wedding mass- believe me- is magnificent! I just can't go on living like this, buried like a mole under the ground!" He ranted, seeming to have forgotten the presence of Christine in the room. How long he had waited for someone-anyone-to see that there was more than him, to see that there was a man behind the monster, but no one had. And his already shattered and clumsily put back together heart couldn't take much more.
Fury overtook Erik and he ripped his mask off, sending it clattering to the ground, and shattering it into many pieces. He whipped around to face the trembling figure of Mlle. Daae, who turned her head away from him.
"Yes or no? If your answer is no, everybody will soon be dead and buried!" he hissed.
Christine, still bound, could only shake her head sadly.
Erik carefully walked closer to her, his steps soundless, like a cat. He quickly undid her binding.
"The grasshopper or the scorpion, my dear." He whispered, his voice sounding like a mere husk of what it once was.
Erik walked to the door of the room, inhaling deeply before turning the knob and stepping out. As the door closed, his parting words echoed around the room.
"Remember, I love you Christine. I do everything for you." He sighed.
For a few minutes, Christine remained sitting on the same chair where she had been bound, unsure of what to do. So many lives in her hands was not what she had wanted. Could she sacrifice them all, so that she wouldn't have to live the days of her live married to that monster outside the room?
Gears clicked into place as she realized what she must do. It would be better for everyone. Erik had promised her to be as gentle as a lamb if he loved her, but this was the Phantom. Who knew how long promises from him actually lasted? Who knew if they were actually worth anything at all?
Christine stood, her knees knocking, and her hands shaking with the knowledge of what she was about to do. Her feet seemed to stick to the polished black floor as she walked, her steps echoing loudly in the empty room.
A choked sob escaped her lips when she found herself face to face with the two objects that decided that fate of everyone. The strained cry brought Erik back to the room, softly shutting the door and locking it behind as if such things mattered anymore. He did not look at Christine, for he already knew what she was about to do.
Gently, Christine traced the elegantly carved scorpion, reflecting on the beauty of it, even if it was used for such as ugly purpose. Slowly, reluctantly, her quivering fingers slid to the grasshopper, and clutched at the figurine. No last words issued forth. She had none to give that could express what she felt. Eyes closed as if she might wake and find it all a dream, Christine twisted her fingers and moved the grasshopper.
And the ground under them burst open.