Starlight's Embrace

Prologue

Hannibal

The music had escaped him, and Erik felt drained, like he wanted to sleep but the clock on the mantle told the one inside him that it was time to wake. Tonight was the night of the performance, and Erik knew he must make himself work; he must focus. He had been preparing for this moment for as long as he could remember and sleep could wait. His head was muddled, his mind fogged up and he needed to breathe. Needed to get out of his home and go to the roof where the cold would wake him up. Slowly, he rose, like the skelington he was. Graceful and terrible all at the same time as he grabbed his favorite cloak before heading along the rafters where the minions of his artistic domain carried on their addle-braided lives to the end goal of pointlessness which was the human race.

Ballet rats getting drunk on shots of rum, fornicating with the stage-hands and slapping one another as this one stole that one's barrett. The fat tenor making moon-eyes at the toad of a diva who was pampering those yappy little mutts. Erik wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight of them, wishing he could strangle them and have done with it but knowing he never would. Opera ghost though he was, he had a soft spot for animals and actually pitied the things that they had such a hag for a mother figure. He again made a face behind his mask and kept going, giving Joseph Bouquet a good solid stomp as he was made to step over him.

The drunken swine groaned and rolled over before snoring and letting out a loud, obnoxious belch as fluid came out of his mouth, drunk and puking all over himself he was lucky that he was a handsome man and the girls were after him for his looks. Because he had nothing else going for him. Up and around he went, his white mask luminescent in the lights of the candles which were used to create the spotlight. He continued on his way, twisting and winding as he got the sudden notion that he being followed. Let them follow him; the idiot would soon find he was on the wrong end of his noose. He felt the eyes of his stalker on his back, making him bristle and Erik went quickly up and out of the shadows.

Starlight. It welcomed him like a hand extending from the shadows a set of ten long ghostly fingers covered in diamonds and beckoning him forward. Blue and mysterious, it reminded him of the object of his unreturned affections. Always drawn to the light, too blind to see the beauty of the shadows. So lonesome, so wretched. Just like his blackened, broken would never understand the beauty of the silent, lonesome darkness as it rang with a muted melody. A melody only the most privileged were ever allowed to hear and his Angel of Music, beautiful as she was would always be deaf to it. His girl, drawn to the light would never be able to listen to the tears of the starlight as it mourned for the sleeping sunlight which no longer let it rest. Sad and remorseful as they were, the eyes of the night sky were as sparkling with tears that he nearly offered his handkerchief.

It was of course, the only gentlemanly thing he could do; to offer the only lady ever kind to him his handkerchief; although he admittedly never wiped her tears. She always seemed to be waiting for him, weeping for him, as though he had broken her heart. Committed some sin which he did not remember the details of but he still had to pay the penance. It was certainly an egregious one, that much he knew. For every night these past weeks, Lady Midnight had clung harder to her gloom and tonight was no exception. In fact, tonight was even worse; for when he had stepped out onto the roof of the Opera Populaire, a shooting star dribbled one glittering teardrop down her face. And just like every night, he raised the black satin favor and like always his melancholy mistress refused to take it and he put the cloth back in his pocket where it shrank in remorse.

Unused and cold as it was it felt like a punished animal crawling back into his cave not that he blamed her. She was after all, jilted. He did not blame her that she wept at the sight of him. Most people did and Erik was certain that he was in fact, the cause of her tears. The man who the world called anything but human. The man the world had dubbed a ghost stood his silent vigil over the cobblestone streets of the city. Streetlamps glowed with firelight to set the famous romantic atmosphere the capital of France was known for. Warm and intimate like two lovers having relations on a silent rushing breeze. Erik scowled as he caught sight of all the well-dressed people walking arm and arm into the theater for an evening of fun and romance where the wine flowed better than the music.

Booze and good cheer flowed like rain and laughter and warmth was the entire purpose of these people's lives and it made Erik both jealous and ill to think of them. There were times when he thought of what it would be like to be down there with them. Enjoying the stupidity of the actors who said lines and regurgitated words with all the pasted on smiles and false emotion that one would expect of a drunk. This was what passed for acting, the screeching of the diva, was what passed for music and Erik simply glared in disgust as the masses ate their pitiful scraps. Gorging themselves on expensive edibles and fine wines as their ears feasted on the dregs of the music, never hearing it at its full potential and numb enough not to care.

Sometimes Erik longed to be one of them. Longed to be stupid and simple and beautiful. But alas he was not and so he sneered at the goers who did not understand what it was they were looking at and nor did they care. Erik looked them up and down and sometimes, during intermission would fantasize about killing them one at a time. That was until Christine came on stage and grabbed his full attention. His girl was a beauty but she simply couldn't dance, she had the coordination of a frog on the pavement. But her voice, when she was given a line or two was as pure as the night itself. Beautiful and tragic, just like the night to whom his heart was now traitorous. Lovely and tragic was his angel, lovely and broken from a loss which Erik could not hope to understand.

He had no concept of human love. The love he felt was so much stronger than that of those simple creatures and the lady he wanted now was of a mortal nature had no idea just how far he would go for her. Not that he expected her to, as he flung the doors to the long spiraling staircase and began to take the stairs two at a time. Up, up, up, he went toward the pointed tip of the tower where he threw open the shutters to the large window and stepped out into the blast of frigid air. Snow speckling his face; causing one side to match the other, nearly a clean painted coat of pure white. He grabbed the pulley he had installed and the roof bloomed for him like a midnight rose, so rare and perfect that even he had to smile.

The astronomy tower at the Paris opera house was Erik's second-favorite place in the city; he had designed it himself. The roof opened up in the nighttime and the skies stretched on forever. He inhaled sharply, the smell of winter, like concentrated rain as he looked down at the snow covered rooftops of the city all covered in snow. It was the closest thing to ethereal beauty he would ever see and the madness of it was; that it was deadly all the same. Death was beautiful in its own mysterious way; for as it stole the breath from the lips of the mortal, it left them in the glow of the moon. White, pale and cold as the ice of death took them and painted their skin. Leaving bare to the world the eternal sadness humanity could never outrun. Try as they might the cold inside them would turn them blue for the soul which made them warm; which rosied the blossom of their cheeks, had gone back to the creator where it would remain.

Evermore in shadow, the blueness of the skin would bring forth the mourning of the corpse as it turned that icicle shade and then the ugliness which rested with mortality at last came to view. It was an ugliness that Erik himself had been cursed with from birth and so the world had banished him but little did they know the ugliness was inside them all. It just took longer for them to see it, and for the most part they never did. Buried before their sightless eyes could take note of the flesh being eaten away by the bugs and worms and all manner of other things. Yes, those the world excepted would never see their own rebus. A pity really. But not one that Erik cared to bother trying to fix it. No, tonight he would make sure they all pay for what they chose to do to him and it all began with the curse.

He stood there watching the moon rise and the stars align in the shape of an arrow. He swore under his breath, for no particular reason. He just felt like it. Taking a swoop down he flung himself off the top of the tower and grabbed the pull string to shut it. Swinging on the rope as if it were an African vine, Erik leapt down on the roof where the snow crunched beneath his weight. Leaving marks the exact shapes of his too-shiny leather shoes as he went and making him wish for a moment, that he had normal feet and could go barefoot in the snow. He imagined the footprints he left were not human as Erik had never been and did not consider himself to be human. He was both below and above them all at the same time. Peering down at the footprints he left, it was then that Erik realized that he was in fact not alone. His feline eyes looking all about to find the very person he did not expect to see staring right at him.

Those jade eyes were unmistakable. He narrowed his eyes in disgust and marched toward the man with murder on his mind the lasso he kept always in his cloak coiling like a snake into the palm of his left hand. The snow crunching almost soundlessly beneath his feet sounding like the scurrying of rat's feet;scurrying and scuttling along the icky and grime-ridden stones of his dungeon. Erik knew of course, that his footprints were far from rodentcery; he had seen his own feet many times but it still amused him to think of it. Still he marched toward the man with murder being the primary focus; although the great booby seemed to remain unphased. In fact the man's demeanor was down-right calm and it only served to stoke the anger of his further.

"Salam-malacham Nadir Khan." he said to the shadow.

"Bon Jour Erik D'Aubert." he said slyly. "So this is where you have gone to?"

"And you have been following me." he said, narrowing his eyes. "Why?"

"You are...a heavy burden my old friend...a heavy, heavy, burden." he said rubbing his temple as though he had a headache.

"A burden you were not asked to bear." Erik snarled.

"Remember Erik, you made promises to me back in-"

"Persia I remember just stay out of my way."Erik sneered and stalked off, with Nadir laughing quietly.

That man would never change and something told his old friend there was trouble afoot in the halls of the Paris Opera house. The only question was when and where and how. Still, he couldn't stay around all day and he went home, hoping Erik would not get into too much trouble while he was away. Erik on the other hand was heading back to the cellar for a strong glass of wine, because ninety seconds with that man was enough to give anyone a headache. On his way back however, he heard that, that toad doing her normal singing impersonation and he cringed. Not sure how much more of this he could take. He went to the corner, and swiftly untied the rope, dropping the damn thing atop the hag before she knew what was happening. What followed was glorious and Erik decided to have a little fun with the panicking company.

"All this talk of ghosts you fool!" he shouted out, his voice echoing around the room, "When your stagehand is drunk and snoring on the job!"

This was enough for the new one, the one with the goat-horn shaped hair: "Bouquet, for God Sakes man!"

Poor old Lefevre shouted, "Third time this week and people ask why I am retiring."

"Please Monsieur it wasn't me!" whined the drunk woken up from all the noise.

"Well who was it then, oh never mind just get down here!" Shouted the manager two-toned hair and curly mustache.

The man toppled down and landed flat on his arse having missed the latter and landing flat on his back. Due to his inebriated state , the man found this very funny and began to laugh like some raving lunatic. Howling and guffawing like some drunken idiot as he pissed all over himself and laughed at the sight and smell of the puddle while he finally got to his feet. Erik watching him like an angry cat, complete with eyeshine as he glared from the shadows. The three managers were grimacing and wrinkling their noses in disgust at the stench of his piss. He should have just stayed down because standing up was a mistake and a costly one. He belched and then the mouthful which came up turned into a flood and he wretched, spewing puke and booze all over their shoes before burping and giggling like some schoolgirl.

"Sorry 'bout 'at Messrs, but better out than in eh?" he chuckled, while the three of them eyed him in angry disgust.

"Yes well," Lefevre began, trying to keep his calm. "If you didn't drop the screen who did?"

Bouquet chuckled again, grunting, "The Opera Ghost don't like -hic- Mrs. Piangi much!" he belched again, "thinks she's a -burp- whiny bitch he does!"

Carlotta went scarlet in the face, "'Scuse me!" she screeched. "Ubaldo they-a callin' me a dirty female dog!" the tenor patted her on the shoulder.

Erik was dying to burst with laughter but managed to keep a straight face as the man slurred, "Well Mrs. I mean, you do tend to act like a child and he doesn't like you so-" another burp, "he wan' ya ta shut the fuckin' 'ell up!" he cheered slapping her on the back.

Erik smiled. The man was smarter than he thought and he had to smirk when Carlotta threw a tantrum which a toddler would have taken notes from and waddled off screeching for her doggie and the fur had to smother a laugh lest he be heard and caught. He continued to watch the three managers, stooping low to write a note with the quill and red ink he always brought with him on the back of a programme from last season's opera. He may as well introduce himself properly to these men, welcome them and explain the way things were done at his opera house. The managers meanwhile were chasing after her and the current one, with one foot out the door was berating the man with a zeal Erik admittedly found impressive.

"There is no Opera Ghost!" he bellowed, "are you so drunk that you believe some bloody translucent spector is lurking about being a musical critic?!"

Joseph Bouquet laughed, grabbing another brown bottle from the staff trunk as he did so. "No sur! That'z no' wot he looks like!"

"Oh DO TELL!" Lefevre said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What does the 'Opera Ghost' look like?!"

"Well," Another laugh and burp, "He's got yeller skin, no nose looks like a snake's snout." another loud and apparently smelly belch, a hiccup. "fitting the way he slithers about the catwalk with these, weird yellow eyes, like a ruddy cat! He skulks about always with a mask and his eyes glow like two tiny fireflies that never seem ta blink! Look he even stepped on me ribs."

Lefevre looked flabbergasted, positively incensed. Erik fell to his knees helpless in a fit of silent and uncontrollable laughter. "Yellow eyes, glowing? You're a bloody madman! You probably bruised yourself landing on the damned backdrop which then fell on poor Carlotta who has now quit the night of a very important gala performance!"

"But sur it wasnnit me...the ghost is-"

"ENOUGH!" the manager roared causing him to cringe. "You're fired! F-I-R-E-D! FIRED now get out!"

Bouquet looked shocked before slobbering, "Y-y-y-you can't do that, you don' own this place anymore!"

"Till I walk out that door I do! Now on your way!" he gave the man a shove. "Crazy old Bastard!"

Bouquet stumbled, almost fell on his face, lumbered forward muttering, "Show them who's crazy I will...the ghost is real they will all see."

The new managers had returned and were sputtering and whining about refunds until...Christine...his Christine was called on to sing by way of that busybody madame Giry. Erik could not help the soft groan that escaped him. His angel was not ready. Her voice was good but she had much, much still to learn and did not have the power behind an opera singer's voice. Her range, pitch and voice were flawless but she was far too timid as was she, just looking at her from his post told him that much. In fact she was so pale that Erik was sure she was going to vomit in terror. So pale, hands clenched, shoulders slumped and shaking. Erik was sure she was going to run off stage or throw up or both and he began thinking of lullabies to comfort her after such a mortification.

But the old goat continued to push her to sing and sing she did. She sang with all her heart, all her soul in a voice which he had not known she was capable of. It rang out, like the cry of an angel bound to heaven and trying in vain to break the chains that bound her to earth. Erik fell to his knees; his legs too weak to hold him up as he listened to the music which only the two of them could understand. She sang for him. Always and only for him and he disappeared down the corridor to his box where he made himself comfortable and pricked his ears to listen. Erik was elated as the girl, the poor girl dropped into a faint right in the arms of little Giry who was laughing and fanning her gently to wake her up. Erik shook his head as he headed back to the door toward his cavern.

He tied a black ribbon around a red rose, raising the petals to his malformed lips and kissed it as he headed up to place it in her dressing room. It was a pale comparison to her own beauty but it was the best he could do. He headed to her room where the bumbling fool of the opera house doctor was just packing up to leave. Christine was laying there, the orange of her strawberry blonde hair shone as bright as the candlelight around them. And something came over him that he simply could not explain he had this urge to go to her. She was just so lovely, and looked so fragile, he wanted to hold her but he knew he never would. Not in this lifetime. He heard someone knocking at the door, and Christine whisper for them to come in.

Erik disappeared behind the mirror just in time as a young, handsome boy more peacock then human appeared at the door. Erik glared daggers at the man. Just who was this and who did he think he was coming in here when she was in such a vulnerable state? Christine it seemed did not recognize him either. She blinked those lovely lavender eyes at him and looked positively like a deer being hunted down. The boy, a handsome lad to be sure, was golden blonde with forget-me-not eyes; Erik hated to admit he was quite a specimen and hated him for it. He had no idea who this person was and was sure that he did not particularly care to begin with. But this man seemed to be very interested in Christine and that annoyed Erik to no end.

"Christine, don't you recognize me?" he asked, eyes twinkling as he ran his fingers through the rose-gold tendrils of her hair.

"No sir, I do not." she said her voice groggy.

"It's me, your old friend, remember, the scarf you gave me?" and he removed a tiny faded rag from his neck.

Erik almost puked at the sentimental garbage this boy was spewing. Noticing the small tattered rag he now presented her with and marveling at the fact that it had at one time been a little scarf. Far too small for a grown man to wear and looking as though it were in desperate need of a wash. He handed it to her and, to Erik's horror Christine kissed it and began to cry. His blood boiled! This bastard had his nerve making Christine cry! But then, things got even worse! Christine, sobbing wrapped her arms around him tight and held him; nuzzling his shoulder.

"Oh Raoul it's so good to see you again!" she sobbed, hugging him.

"Ah Christine, you were magnificent tonight please you must come to dinner with me tonight!" he said, rubbing her back.

Erik groaned and rubbed his temple in pain, "No Christine..." he murmured without realizing he had said it out loud.

Apparently he said that loud enough for the boy to hear, because he looked rapidly about and asked her, "Did you hear something?"

Christine smiled sleepily, "The Angel of Music is here..."

This story is dedicated to my friend Alys hope you like the first chapter Passion Play coming back soon!