Hello, my fellow phans! This is the first story that I've done in months, so it's pretty short. Recently, I've gained an unhealthy Phantom obsession, and, like most people, I find Erik's character fascinating. So, I decided to write a series of one-shots from his point of view. These are all based on the character from Leroux's novel, although you might find some references to popular adaptations (for instance, I hinted a couple of the songs from Webber's version here).
Don't forget to R&R! -KTBG
Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, or any other characters from The Phantom of the Opera.
NOTE: I used my laptop's translator, so forgive me if the French is a little off.
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The Music of the Night:
Erik's First Opera
The rippling curtains glowed ruby red as the orchestra began their song. Angelic strings sang out a haunting tune first, making way for the harsher sounds of the trumpets and organs that were soon to come.
Oh, how my senses crumbled at the beautiful music! All but my hearing shut down as I closed my eyes and my mind traveled far, far away. Breathing slowly, my body shook with the harmonious vibrations flooding the theatre. My inhales and their exhales kept the pace, and this small heart of mine was overflowing with something I'd never felt before. It was...love. Yes, love. An intoxicating sensation that I could feel from the tips of my ears to the ends of my toes.
Suddenly, I was drawn back into reality by the sound of a voice, clear as glass. My eyes flew open in hopes of a glimpse at the source of such a voice. A woman, plump and clad in the most ridiculous of robes, stood in the center of the giant stage, belting out libretti in a foreign tongue that I'd studied, but could not remember. Her coils of inky hair were tied back in a way I'd never seen before, and atop her curly locks was a balanced hat of apples and grapes and pears.
Before long, another singer appeared, this one a bass. He was also round and dressed in a fantastic costume, but looked regal and brave. His song reached out to the woman, calling her, needing her. "Splendide..." I mumbled, astonished by the passion and drive. "Absolument étonnant..." Sighing, I felt the peppy chant of flutes drain me to weightlessness, a feeling I'd only experienced when singing myself.
The flute was something familiar to me. The gypsies played flutes at some points when we were all seated around the nighttime fire, back when I was traveling in the shows. Their echoing songs used to hum me to sleep, bringing somewhat pleasant dreams.
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The scenes changed, and new characters were introduced. Thinking back to my studies, I made out some key phrases, such as "war of foolish pride" and "servant of vengeance", but the music was what truly told the story. A young warrior decided to head off to war, and returned only to find that his family had been mutilated by brutal assassins. The following events were the result of his thirst for revenge. Every time that wonderful tenor opened his mouth, the music took over his body, controlling every movement, every note sung.
This intrigued me. Not just the fact that the music latched on to every inch of me, but just the whole air of this enchanting thing called opera.
