Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: This is my first Phantom of the Opera fic, and I am most definitely a Mme Giry/Erik shipper. I always adore the unconventional pairings for some reason...Anyway, I hope you like it, please leave some feedback so I can improve. Oh and this was meant to be a one shot, but I think I will most likely write a few others to go along with it.
Beauty in Madness
The shards of broken glass lay scattered all around his heaving body as he groaned in despair. In the distance, the Phantom could still hear the water as it gave way beneath Raul's oar and Christine's higher pitched keening while they drifted away from his domain.
He lay there, sobbing wretchedly, and a thousand miserable thoughts flitted through his head. This was the price he paid for such a disastrous love. The only way he could atone for his crimes was to let Christine go, unfortunately it was also the most painful thing he ever had to face in his entire existence.
The passionate fury that merged with such fierce longing had long since evaporated and transformed into resignation and utter weariness. He could not bear to even look up, the reality of the situation reminded him endlessly that Christine would never be his no matter how much he wished otherwise. That fact was as solid as a physical punch to his gut.
His sensitive ears picked up a soft pitter-pattering of footsteps nearby. He disregarded it as either his vivid imagination or the inevitable approach of a search party that would bear him away to prison where he would rot until the day he died. He did not care either way. He was too tired to move, too broken. Let them do what they like, he did not care any longer.
To his faint surprise, he heard a soft voice vaguely above his head speaking to him.
"You let her go." It said, pleasant and lulling to his senses. It was a female, contralto, and suffused with an inexplicable emotion. He knew exactly who it was.
"I had to." The phantom whispered. He felt two hands upon his shoulders that gently hoisted him upright into a sitting position, he was forced to look at her now.
"You are not a monster, Erik. To many, you are a ghost. To Christine, you are half angel and half demon. To me, you are a man who deserves a chance at final redemption,"-she broke off, tears shining in her eyes. "You must hurry before they find you!"
He felt bereft when she stopped talking. He loved her tone, the way she let words effortlessly roll off her tongue, yet the meaning of those words were lost on him.
"I cannot, Antoinette! Can't you see? I cannot continue living when my Christine is gone. She was everything…" A tear rolled down his scarred cheek, she thought she had never seen him look so broken and desolate as he did now.
She placed her smooth palm over his cheek and dried his tears with her thumb. Her touch was tender as it always had been, similar to Christine's yet different in the respect that Antoinette's touch was induced out of the deepest respect for him. Christine had touched him-kissed him- purely out of childlike curiosity and pity as well. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to savour the moment, a small semblance of peace before the torrent flooded in and carried them away.
"Please, Erik. Run…For my sake if anything. Please," Now she was crying, droplets running down her alabaster cheeks as she grasped his face with both of her hands. He stared at her with tenderness as he considered this strange possibility and wondered why he never noticed her before.
"I…" He faltered as his future flashed before his eyes, frightening and intriguing all at once. "I shall go."
She exhaled in relief and smiled, her expression displayed open rejoicing that he had not completely surrendered to his grief. There was still hope, there was still a chance for him to escape from the heartbreak Christine unwittingly dealt.
Helping him stand, she smoothed back errant strands of his dark hair and straightened out his collar. He sighed as he looked her over once more, for the first time since he had met her, Erik realized that Antoinette was always more beautiful in times of distress. Her eyes, such lovely orbs of blue, were blazing with urgency and her tousled auburn hair framed her face with wispy curls.
If he ever saw her again, he thought he would tell her that.
By the time the search party reached the murky lair, the Phantom had vanished and Madame Giry stood alone on the stone floor, clutching the white mask in her right hand.
"He was already gone when I arrived. I found this, on the floor beside the mirrors." She admitted, somewhat truthfully.
No one questioned her, not even her own daughter. Every one of them trudged through the water and onwards until they exited the subterranean chamber. Antoinette Giry paused briefly to look over her shoulder. She imagined he was in a coach heading away from Paris, somewhere remote and peaceful in the countryside.
God bless your soul, Erik, wherever you may be, She thought as she entered the world of reality once more.
The end…
A/N: Please tell me what you think!