Author Comments: Finally I'm doing something not related to Kotor. Yeah, Phantom of the Opera is the awesome.
Disclaimer: Of course, Gaston Leroux's the one who came up with Phantom and all... And Andrew Lloyd Webber and crew made the 2004 version of the movie, based on the play, based on the book. So, about the only thing I own is the concept for what's happening after Erik leaves, and my OC, Anna Devereux. She pops up in the next chapter.
Also; to the anon cowardly enough to whine at me about how horrible I am behind their silly letters and whatnot... Grow up. I took it down because people were telling me to, not because I couldn't bear the criticism, and I posted it with full knowledge that it was against the rules. Posted it on a spur-of-the-moment. People misconstrued almost everything that I had put in there without giving me a chance to point out what I had meant. Not putting it back up, not gonna delete your pansy comments because you'd probably whine at me about that, too. My 'rant' wasn't even close to emo, since it's not a personal thing for me, it's not emotional, I just think people who favor one over the other so much are ridiculous, especially the crazed fangirls from the 2004 movie who don't know jacksh about any of the characters the way they were supposed to be. I hope you flaming morons realize that I don't give a crap what you say about me or my work, at least I'm brave enough to post it, and brave enough to post it under MY name, not anon. Got something to say to me? Register, so I may have a decent debate with you about it. That's all I have to say on the matter.
Oh wait, no it's not. I don't use MySpace, thanks.
"Pitiful creature of darkness…" Christine Daaé sang softly, each word piercing the Phantom's ears, his heart- "pitiful" she sang, and it stung him. "What kind of life have you known…?"
Raoul's face was awestruck as his lover waded through the murky water of Cellar 5 to the beast. His mouth formed a stunned, disgusted "O".
"God give me courage to show you…" Christine sang, finally reaching him- he had many names… The Phantom, the Angel, murderer, beast, man in the mask, the Red Death… Erik. "You are not alone…"
She tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his, ignoring the half that was chapped and cracked, ignoring the man she loved tied against the grate near her. She put her hands to her Angel's chest, kissing him as well as she knew how- it was her first kiss, as it was his. They broke apart after only a few moments, heat rushing up to color her face. She gazed at Erik, into his eyes, seeing unhidden his desperate, anguished soul, and to her own surprise, she leaned in for another kiss. Raoul's expression contorted to one of jealousy and confusion. Would she leave him for that "man"?
Distantly, echoing off the stone walls of the cellars, a mob could be heard approaching- "Track down this murderer… He must be found!..." They were still fairly far away, but Christine broke away, realizing the danger they were all in. She stepped away from the Phantom, swallowing the lump in her throat. Her dress suddenly felt overly heavy on her petite form.
Erik's face betrayed conflicting emotions, one passing after another- passion, confusion, sadness, bitter anger and resign. He took a few shaky breaths, hearing himself the mob that was approaching.
"Hunt down this animal, who runs to ground… Too long he's prayed on us, but now we know…"
"Take her - forget me - forget all of this ..." Erik found himself saying, splashing through the shallow water of the place he'd called home for the past… how many years it had been, he did not know. "Leave me alone - forget all you've seen ..." Each word was increasingly difficult for him. What was more difficult was getting over what he'd only now realized. For a genius, he thought, he was sadly slow to think of such things.
He was darkness. He was hideous, cold, a living corpse. He was disfigured, he could not go out in public, he could barely go out in daylight at all. He could offer Christine nothing; he could not make her happy. The Vicomte was rich and handsome, a public figure. He was daylight and care, and he could give Christine everything that Erik could not. She could not love him anyway. So it only remained that he should not be found where he went, once they had left.
"Go now - don't let them find you! Take the boat- swear to me, never to tell… The secrets you know of the angel in hell…" His voice cracked, unable to hold under the weight of his despair, and his unwanted self-pity. It only made things harder.
"The Phantom of the Opera is there, deep down below!"
"Go now!" he cried. They had to get out of his sight. He couldn't bear it. "Go now, and leave me!"
Erik spun on his heel and made for the small wooden table in the room he made for Christine. On it sat the music box, with the monkey dressed in fine little Persian robes, miniature cymbals clasped in his small brown paws. Erik didn't look back to see them leaving together, he only wound up the music box and sat with it in his hands upon the edge of the bed. He stared at the mechanical thing, listening to the tiny trills of the notes, which could never in a thousand years approach the level of beauty his Angel's voice could.
"Masquerade," Erik sang quietly. "Paper faces on parade… masquerade… Hide your face so the world will never find you…"
He noted Christine's light footsteps as she drew aside the curtain and entered the room. He looked up, his face contorted into a miserable frown.
"Christine, I love you…" he sang, slowly, meaningfully. He watched as she gave him a strained, piteous look, and then set the wedding ring down on the music box. How many hands had that ring passed through? It was Raoul's ring for Christine. Erik took it from her… and used it as his own. And now she was returning it to him. The blue crystal set in the ring glittered in the candlelight, as though mocking him.
The Phantom was always left behind. He was always the one who watched as everyone else departed, arm-in-arm with the people they loved. He watched Christine's retreating back until she reached Raoul, standing in the boat. He watched him kiss her gently, help her into the boat, but then he looked back down at his music box, the Persian monkey that was his only companion during the dark, lonely years. "Masquerade…" he muttered.
Gradually he set the box down on the table again. He picked up a golden candlestick from the same table, shifting the weight of it in his hands, standing calmly as the mob's voices grew slowly louder. He walked to the first mirror of his lair, pulling the velvet cover from it, staring at his reflection. His own hideousness never ceased to amaze and disgust him. Was God so wrathful? What had he done? What was his sin?
Erik released an angry yell, hurling his weight into a hit with the candlestick. The mirror splintered, silver streaks stretching across the smooth surface like a spider web. He hit it once more, then moved to the next mirror. Throwing all his anger into that candlestick, one-by-one the mirrors broke before him, until the last one, which shattered completely, revealed a dark tunnel, one he had dug as an extra means of escape. He looked down it, into the darkness.
"You alone can make my song take flight…" he sang softly, the image of Christine, her paralyzing beauty, burned into his mind, the memory of her voice, sweeter than any angel's… "It's over now, the music of the night…!" He went on, dropping the candlestick, listening to the metallic "clang" it made as it hit the floor. He stepped over the broken glass at his feet, into the tunnel, not knowing, not caring what lay ahead, without his Angel, back where he started, alone.