Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa

The small, melted candle flickered softly in the gentle wind that blew through the Labyrinth. It was the last one he had, but it didn't matter if it went out. His life had already been surrendered to eternal darkness. His eyes glanced wearily around his ruined home for the thousandth time. Chairs were overturned, rugs trampled upon and crumpled up into pathetic heaps of red and gold. Sheets and sheets of paper, some blank and some scarred with ink, littered the floor, like dead butterflies. The familiar sounds of the Opera rehersals floated down through the ceiling, into the crypt; into his mind. It had been only two weeks , and already they were rebuilding their reputations and their lives. It was quite clear that he was forgotten by everyone, thanks, no doubt, to that foolish little Giry. She had come wandering into his home, like some lost little child, struggling to be brave, obviously searching for Christine. Already prepared for the fury which was hanging ominously around the entire Opera populace, he had concealed himself in one of the many catacombs and passageways which decorate the building's cellars, making it an eternal, nightmarish maze of darkness to anyone but him. Safe watching from his corner, like a spider, cowering from the kitchenmaid's frightening broom, he saw her approach his Lair and begin to search, in vain, for Christine, just as the mob broke through the portcullis and began their destruction. He later heard her telling the managers that 'He must be dead! He has surely killed himself, for he is nowhere to be found!' If only the ignorant little thing knew just how deep and complex the Opera's basement was. Then she might not be so quick to make the assumption of his demise.

He sighed, and finally moved from his throne. What did it matter now ? He would rather the whole world know every inch of his wretched little hole, then to live without Christine. He grabbed the small candle and extinguished the flame, forcing himself to turn his thoughts to anything else. Death. Death's icy persona was surrounding him; enveloping him more and more closely . He had eaten very little in the past two weeks and drank even less. He was no fool, and knew that his body could not last for very much longer without nurishment and recreation. Part of him didn't want to breath, let alone eat, yet another part of him, a very dark and bitter part, was deliberatly refusing to sustain his life. His mind had already died, and yet, his cursed body was struggling to survive. There was a time, a very brief time just after Christine had left, when his thoughts were entirely consumed with her, and every memory she had given him. But now , there was nothing inside his brain except cobwebs and blackness. It was as though his mind and his home were connected somehow; when one shut- out the world completely , so the did other. Feeling quite weak and very tired, he fell to the floor, hoping that he would at last close his weary eyes and never again find them staring at an earthly object. But suddenly, a slight noise echoed in his trained ear. He had been wrong to think that all of his senses were of no use to him anymore, and he slowly lifted his head, as the sound became increasingly louder. It was a very gentle tapping in a noticable pattern, almost like footsteps. Almost as though someone was approaching .............

Bianca hugged her ratty coat close to her as she ran. She may be small, but she could outrun all of those boys any day. She had been stupid to tease and laugh at them, and now she would most definitely have to pay for her harsh retorts. If they caught up with her, that is, which seemed highly unlikely if she found a suitable hiding place. The street boys often called her "Bianca the Cat," because of her hot temper, agile movement, and narrow, green eyes. They almost glowed, those eyes, and could be spotted yards away in the dark. They would always see those eyes first, and would run away, yelling through the alleyways, "Run for your lives, boys! It's the Cat! Bianca the Cat is on the prowl!" She never did get along well with others.

They were swift tonight , and it seemed as though there were more of them. Gasping for air, she flung herself up against a wall in the darkest corner of a small alley, struggling not to breath for fear the angry footsteps would hear her. It didn't used to be so frightening, back when they were younger and it was just fists and scratching and biting. 'Cat fighting,' they called it. But now , they were older and more street- wise; and they had knives. Perhaps it wasn't just a child's game they played anymore. Maybe they really did mean to............

She got down on the ground and rubbed her hands in the wet dirt, smearing it across her face, and cramming her long hair under the filthy hat she wore, hoping that, if they should find her, she might be mistaken for some other boy, scrounging around through the streets. Running her hands along the wet walls of the immense building, Bianca searched in vain for some form of refuge; a hole, a barrel, anything to hide in. Suddenly, she felt it. It wasn't brick, like the rest of the exterior. It was wood. Very strong, sturdy wood, painted to look like stone, but wood, nonetheless. The rain began to fall from the sky in an angry shower, soaking everything and intensifying the already chilly weather. In a desperate attempt to seek shelter, Bianca began pounding on the heavy door, hoping it was some charity house or convent where she could hide. Her fingers found a rusty handle, and she pulled with all her strength, until it finally gave way, squeaking irritably as though it hadn't been used in a very long time. Pulling it shut behind her, Bianca pressed her back against the door and struggled to catch her breath, while keeping a sharp ear out for any noise which might indicate that someone was heading in her direction . A loud crash and angry shouts suddenly echoed throughout the alley from which she had just escaped. Had she only been a few seconds slower, they would surely have found her. She shuddered, partly from fear and partly from the intense cold and darkness which enveloped her. Though the black passageway before her looked incredibly ominous and sepulchral, Bianca forced herself to continue down into the dank crypt-like residence. The Boys may not be properly educated, but they were by no means stupid and careless, and it was a very distinct possibility that they would soon find her mysterious door as well. She swallowed as she ran her fingers along the cold and cobweb-covered walls, forcing herself to be brave. Quickening her pace, she thought, with slight pride , "I'm a cat, aren't I ? And cats are not afraid of the dark."

The footsteps reverberated throughout the many corridors of the cellars. They were quick, and unevenly spaced, as though the owner might be stumbling blindly through the dark, which was more than expected for anyone except Erik. Only the true master would know his own domain. Rising from the hard ground, he quickly lit the misshaped candle, debating whether or not to torture this poor fool, or to simply kill him instantly and painlessly. Erik did not especially feel like being merciful. He placed the candle carefully on a small writing desk, and darted into a small alcove in the side wall, watching closely like a falcon waiting for his prey. In the dim light, he saw a dirty little street boy suddenly come running from one of the many passageways which led up to the city. He was wearing a rather long, soot colored coat, several sizes too big for him, and an equally dirty hat. Not quite knowing how he had discovered his home, but prepared for him to steal something nonetheless, Erik prepared his hands for Death. It hadn't been that long since his last victim, and this was only a simple street urchin. He would do nothing except live and die in his own filth in the slums, and so Erik considered murder a gruesome favor he would bestow upon the boy. Pausing, he looked around curiosly, as though the fool could not believe what he was staring at. Obviously this wretch had not heard of the rumored Ghost beneath the streets, however, he would unfortunetely not live to tell the story of what he had seen.

Shivering, the boy made his way towards a destroyed rug, balled up in a corner. So it was the fine rugs and tapestries he had been after, perhaps hoping to sell them for a reasonable price and collect the handsome profits. Just as he was prepared to leap from behind and strangle him, Erik paused; watching the boy intently. He had taken the candle from the desk, and was now placing it on the floor, next to the rug. Wrapping it around himself, he gave one last, suspicious glance to the unyielding darkness, and Erik saw the brief flash of his strange, green eyes, as the urchin curled up into an oddly shaped ball and slept . Now more curious than murderous, Erik approached the shivering mass of fabric and human, watching it rise up and down with each hesitent breath he took. He was about to reach out and startle the poor boy into escaping, but weakness and extreme fatigue took hold once more, and he faltered. Grabbing onto the walls for support, Erik worked his way back to the passage where he would not be discovered should his guest awake . Before succumbing to the spinning blackness around him, he smiled at what he had just realized . He had a guest.

A dripping noise awoke her, and she opened her eyes to see what had happened . For the briefest moment, Bianca could not remember where she had been, or where she presently was, but as soon as her long fingers touched the smooth fabric of the rugs, the memories came flooding back. Those stupid boys had chased her through the city, brandishing their knives and fists, shouting angrily and forcing her into this strange, broken palace beneath the streets. Weak with exhaustion, she hadn't had the energy to explore the strangeness of her lodgings, but she was quite taken aback by the aristocratic and yet, eerie aura it possesed. Arising from her tight position on the cold floor, Bianca put her hands out in front of her, acknowleding the extinguished, borrowed candle. Even the day could not reach this nightmarish Inn, and the thought of a place where even sunlight couldn't touch made her shiver with fear. Someone had definitely lived here at one point in time , yet the whole area seemed so incredibly dead and forgotten that Bianca was sure no one occupied it anymore. And yet, she had the strangest feeling as though there were someone else, very near by ; watching her every movement and deciding her fate . Remembering the horrible stories her father used to tell her, about monsters who only dwell in cellars and holes, she decided to leave before whatever was observing her made themselves known.

Discarding the rug, she found the passage through which she had entered, and started to follow it back to the streets, when a bone-chilling thought finally penetrated her sleep-deprived brain. The candle had been lit. When she had arrived , the night before , there was a small candle on the desk, which she had grabbed in her haste and exhaustion, not fully acknowledging the warm light radiating from its tiny flame. The candle had been lit, and she had not been the one to do it. Someone else had. Extremely afraid and suspicious, Bianca turned and ran blindly up the corridor, unaware of her sleeping host in the small alcove in the wall.

Gasping for breath, Erik clutched at the edge of his throne, struggling to calm the spinning room which lay before him. This was it . It was finally time for him to die. After so many years of pain and anguish and questions and unbearable cold, he would finally close his tired eyes and allow the inevitable to embrace his feeble existence. Crawling along the floor, he prepared to curl up and die peacefully and respectably, ironically like any gentleman would, when the smallest flash of curious red light caught his eye. The last flames of his pitiful candle were dancing and reflecting off some unseen gem, almost mocking him. How dare they be happy when he, Erik , was about to die? How dare anything glitter and shine down here in this dismal cave anymore? In a sudden moment of foolish rage, he thrust a trembling hand out towards the mysterious jewel, trying to extinguish its light. Catching it in his palm, he pulled it close to his face, in an attempt to study it in the darkness of the basement . A simple stone, a ruby, finely cut and decorated with intricate patterns hanging from a chain threaded itself between his fingers as he memorized its lovliness. But it bore no familiarity . Though he had bought many fine stones and accessories for Christine , this had not been one of them. It was too strange, too oddly foreign. Never had he seen a ruby quite like this one. It was a rare item indeed , and he began to wonder where it had come from, and why he hadn't acknowledged it until now . Suddenly, a rather amusing thought struck him. Could it have belonged to that foolish street boy who had used his ruined home as an inn last night ? But where would a little urchin obtain such a fine gem? If he had stolen it, he had probably intended to sell it for a large amount of money. And if he had needed the profit badly enough, he would most probably be back to retrieve it......

The sun was shining. The streets and houses were still wet from the night's storm, and they gleamed brightly in the harsh light of day . Bianca squinted as she quietly pushed her way past the crowds of people who swarmed through the square, cursing herself repeatedly in her native Italian. Her stealthy manner and swift, graceful gestures had not only earned her a feline alias, but a reputation as a rather crafty pickpocket as well. She had long ago abandonded the guilt and regret that must accompany every theif. A person has to eat; however they managed to accquire food was their own business. How then, in the name of Heaven and Earth, had such a skillful little rat managed to loose the only thing that contained any real value to her? It had been fastened securely around her neck, as it had always been since the day Mama had placed it there, explaining to her in a hushed voice about the Magic. Constantly bombarded by her strange surroundings as a child, Bianca had been incredibly impressionable, and so, of course, belived every word Mama had said . When Mama died, it was as though she had taken the Magic with her; as though it were somthing celestial which only belonged in Heaven. Though she had long ago given up on its power, Bianca still treasured it. It was her childhood, that necklace; her innocence. If it disappeared, she might as well. Head down, she pressed on through the chilly streets, scanning the ground furiosly for some sign of its presence. She would find it, even if she had to retrace every step she had taken since she left.....

But it was not possible . She could not have left it there. She could not go back to that eerie prison; to the house of Death Himself. It had to be on the streets somewhere. Somebody found it and made off with it. She was never going to see it again . Alternative suggestions and solutions pushed through Bianca's brain, like the sullen Parisians on the streets pushing past each other in the bright afternoon light. She tried to forget about it; to erase the memory from her brain. Anything to prevent another trip down below to that horrible Labyrinth below the streets. But she could not erase the magic, and she could not forget Mama's smiling face, full of pride and adoration as she secured the chain to her beloved daughter's skinny neck like so many before her had done. It would be cowardly and selfish to try and forget. Bianca may have been a great many things, but she was by no means cowardly and selfish. And so, gathering her courage, she carefully walked back to the small alleyway where she had discovered the doorway into a nightmare. It opened much easier this time , and a small shaft of light penetrated the saturating darkness which engulfed the passageway. Her cat's eyes glowed bright with fear as she slowly made her way through the large corridors; keeping an ear out for any unusual noise or movement. Her sense of sight, though keen, was not very helpful in the eternal blackness which surrounded her.

A thought suddenly struck her that she might have missed it already. Perhaps it had been right by the door, or somewhere along the floor of this passage. Getting down on her hands and knees and feeling the cold, wet ground all over, she continued slowly, making sure she left no area unexamined. She suddenly saw the ending of the tunnel, which opened into the deserted room where she had slept , so unaware of what lurked in the blinding night which sealed her off from any form of exsistence. The candle she had not lit still burned pathetically on a ruined desk. White with unfamiliar fear, she approached it slowly, hesitently wondering if she dared to touch it. If it was a mirage; a mere figment of her fear- intoxicated imagination, it would surely disappear with her touch. But it looked so real that she couldn't help but reach her trembling hand for its warm, familiar light, yearning for some form of comfort. The candle was so weak, however, that it immediately extinguished and melted in her palm as she let out an unnessesery sigh of relief . Before she could breath in again , however, another hand, as icy and strong as Death's own grasp, reached out and grabbed her by the throat, causing her senses to finally lapse as she fell to the frigid ground.

He carefully fastened the necklace's delicate clasp. The ruby hung majestically from her neck and sparkled in the darkness. How strangely this curious gem resembled its owner; mysterious and foreign yet intricately beautiful in an oddly exotic way. She must have been terribly afraid; Erik hadn't meant for her to faint. He hadn't been expecting a female, however. It was not difficult to mistake this lost child for a simple street boy; her mannerisms and masculine clothes could have fooled even the most wary of Parisians. She had fooled Erik , had she not? The girl shivered in the damp, chilly airy, exhaling a slow, shakey breath as she slept . The dirty bandage on her forehead was quickly absorbing blood and staining to a frightfully intense shade of red. He had certainly not meant for her skull to collide with his writing desk as she fell, and he half-wondered if it had been wise to allow her to remain unconcious. Taking another dirty rag and wetting it in a small bowl of the frigid lake water, he gently moistened her wound with a skillful hand. She shifted and cried out, thrusting her hands forward into the air as if she were reaching out for somthing; or someone. Erik half wondered what she was dreaming. 'Am I going mad?' he thought, with sudden discontempt. 'Only a few moments ago I was preparing myself for Death, and now I am playing nursemaid to a pathetic street mouse?'

Those eyes. He cast a weary glance to his restless patient and immediately recalled the eerie green flash of her eyes before she had collapsed on the floor of his home . They were like no other he had seen before. Even his own did not glow with such mysterious fear. Those eyes....... Fluttering, softly at first in the quiet darkness of the room, opened slowly as though she were a new born child looking at the world for the first time . Glancing around, her face went white with hysterical fear. She struggled to stand, but instantly realized that moving was too great a task for her injury to condone. Placing a trembling hand on her pale forehead, those Eyes acknowledged Erik with great intensity.

"Where am I ?" the feeble request was barely audible in the hollow cellar. Hesitating at first and unsure of what to say, Erik spoke the first words he had spoken to any human being in two weeks .

"The Opera. You know it, mademoiselle?" She nodded faintly and closed her cat's eyes once more .

"Who are you?" this time , her voice was barely above a whisper. She was fading quickly, back into the wonderful eternity of some unspoken dream. He couldn't be sure whether she had fallen asleep again or was still waiting for his response. After a long pause , he gently whispered one word into the intense blackness. "Erik ."

~To continue or not to continue? That is the question. I think I have a rough idea of how this story will end , and will probably keep writing it. But should I post it? Hmmm. If you wonderful people out there think it is "PhanPhiction Worthy," then yes, of course I will continue to post it. Even if you don't, who knows ..... Anyway, I know I didn't get very far into it, but if you all like it, I'll try to move the story along. So, cast your vote and thanks for reading!~