These Walls
Your long and bony fingers travel effortlessness across the black and white keys of your beloved piano. Your pale fingers have long ago memorized every stoke and note within this masterpiece you have created, so you don't pay much attention.
That's your mistake.
Without anything to keep your mind busy, your mind wanders. And every time your mind wanders, it lands on a subject that you have tried to forget in vain….
"Say you love me."
Her soft voice always warmed even the coldest of your heartstrings, but her declaration of love being delivered to none other than Raoul de Changy makes you seethe.
"You know I do."
If you had not been so heartbroken and beaten you would have burst right then and strangled him. But, as it were, your strength had left you broken, needing to lean against the statue, lest you crumple.
"Love me, that's all I ask of you!"
The irony almost makes you laugh. Almost. These words have been burning your tongue for years, but you have never said them—now it's too late.
You begin to wonder. You wonder why you are alone with these walls. An escape they provide, yes, but a prison as well. A prison that is as cold and uninviting as those who have seen your face.
You sigh, trying to empty your mind of this thought, but another one, even more disheartening than the one before, takes its place.
Why the rest of your kind is cold and uninviting to you? Surely a scarred face is overlooked when the mind of a genius lies just behind it?
Your music, issuing from the beautiful craftsmanship before you, becomes softer and softer until it stops. Your fingers hover over the familiar keys, begging you to let them continue, but your mind is too detached now to even notice their pleas.
Am I doomed to this life? You wonder. A life of solitude because of the face given to me by God?
You scowl at the thought and are about to begin the song again when something catches your eye.
The drawer.
As though in a trance, you rise from your handcrafted bench and walk toward it. You haven't even touched the handle of the drawer in years—and with good reason. But now you need strength, and perhaps a reminder of why Christine could never love you would help ease your mind.
You open the drawer.
Inside is a sketch of your mother. Even in the picture, her beauty is unquestionably stunning—it's a wonder she could have birthed her opposite. [1]
Pushing aside the picture with an air of annoyance, your hand lands for what it desired.
The hand mirror.
You hesitate to pull it out. Your hands still bear the angry red scars from the last time you saw your reflection. [2]
But fear is a pitiful feeling you have mastered years ago.
Grasping the hilt of the hand mirror, you pull it slowly out of the drawer, bringing it to your face. With your free hand, you carefully remove the mask.
You do not scream. You do not feel an urge to run or shatter the face in the glass before you.
You only stare. You stare at the face, hidden for so long from light, that it had become an unnaturally pale. A face that cost you your freedom, your life—and Christine's love. You raise your hand, gently touching the scarred and stretched, paper-thin skin. Your fingers hover over the place the nose should be. You stare at he yellow, cat-like eyes in glass blink back tears.
You stare at the Devil's Child.
This is why Christine despises you! For, what woman would want to caress these skeletal cheeks or kiss these thin lips? Yes; love is reserved for the beautiful!
Your hands begin to shake as you whisper to the reflection:
"This is why I am alone with these walls?"
Your only response is the loud echo of solitude.
I wrote this in hopes of entering the mind of Erik (which is very dangerous territory) after he witnessed the infamous roof-top scene between Raoul and Christine. I am not completely satisfied with how this turned out, but I would greatly appreciate any pointers on how to improve it. Anyways, here are some footnotes:
[1]: This fanfic is loosely based off of Susan Kay's Phantom. In the book, Erik shows Christine a worn out picture of his mother. Well, I read this book a really long time ago, so I don't remember if it was a sketch or a photograph. Either way, you get the point.
[2] Also a reference to Susan Kay's Phantom. In the book, on Erik's fifth birthday, he asks his mother why he has to wear the mask. She drags him by the hand to the only mirror in the house (she keeps it in her room) and tears the mask off of his face. Erik looks into the mirror to see his monstrous face. He screams, thinking he was seeing a monster and punches the mirror, shattering it. He then runs to his room to hide from "The Face". The glass from the mirror he shattered leaves a lot of marks on his hands.