Death of a Sue
Author's note: I own nothing bla bla bla. Also, this is not based on anyone's particular fic, but we have gotten rather tired of all the tramps making their way into Erik's lair and expecting him to take them in. I wrote this for my own sick morbid amusement, not because I wish to offend people, though I probably will anyway. Mwahahahahaaaa!
"How did I get here?" Julietta wondered, looking around. All she remembered was the scary men chasing her down into the cellars of the Paris Opera House, a place she inexplicably felt safe. As they had searched for her, she remembered fainting from lack of food and excess drama. She wore trashy clothes and thin shoes. All her life she had been poor, unloved, mistreated, overlooked, and abused. None of this made sense considering she was exquisitely lovely. She had always been too poorly dressed and talentless to ever audition at the opera house but how she loved going there to listen to the beeooteeful music! And sometimes she felt as though some mysterious stranger were watching her, unseen, from the shadows. Her lifelong buddy, Meg Giry, told her she was crazy and that stalkers don't care about homeless girls, now please leave me alone, you weirdo that I've never met before!, but Julietta had always been hopeful.
Now, here she was, in a comfortably furnished room with Louis-Philip furniture. On top of a dresser was a note written in black ink. Even though she was completely uneducated and there was no good reason for her to possess the ability to do so, Julietta had no trouble actually reading the note. It simply said, "Lunch is on the table. Feel free to indulge yourself in my absence. ~OGW"
"OGW?" Julietta wondered. "What did that stand for? OhmyGoshWow?" Julietta would have speculated further, but the note said something about lunch and, being a penniless pauper, Julietta was starving.
She turned and saw that a door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and stared at the sight that lay in the room beyond it. The room was simple, holding but a small breakfast table and two exquisite chairs. Laying in a tidy heap atop the tablecloth, were four severed heads. Julietta stared in horror, mouth agape, eyes wide, stomach churning. Each wore an expression of terrible disbelief. There were signs of bruising on what was left of their necks. Julietta opened her mouth to scream and stopped as she recognized one of the faces. She blinked, realizing that she knew all of them as the bad men that had chased her down into the cellars to begin with. Seeing that they would never hurt her again—or try to, anyway—Julietta laughed merrily and clapped her hands, looking around so that she might discover the location of the person who had saved her.
She tried the nearest door but found it locked. She tried another. Also locked. Being a determined and tenacious young lady, Julietta refused to give up and finally located a small bag with a single key in it. She persistently tried the key in all of the locks until one of the doors finally pushed open before her. With a cry of victory, Julietta rushed into the room, not even noticing it swing shut behind her. The room was pitch black but as Julietta searched for a candle or lamp, the room was suddenly flooded with light. Julietta blinked and gasped in shock. The room was full of mirrors! She was finally able to see herself for the beautiful, wonderful, misunderstood angel that she was! She stood in front of one of the mirrors, fixing her hair, picking gook out of her teeth, and posing dramatically, too busy admiring herself to notice the room's temperature turn smoldering. It wasn't until the floor began to burn her feet through her thin shoes that she began to suspect that perhaps the building was on fire. She sniffed but failed to detect any smoke. Looking around, it suddenly dawned on her that she no longer knew where the door was. And why was there a big metal tree there in the corner? And was that a snake on the ground? Oh, nope, just some rope. Stupid rope! And as much as she liked the room, it was far too warm for her taste and she was suddenly feeling thirsty. Besides, what would her mysterious rescuer think if he were to come back to find her all sweaty? Still admiring her exceptional loveliness in the mirrors, Julietta absentmindedly searched for the door.
She didn't find it.
As sweat soaked her dirty clothes, making her aroma as enticing as a dead goat, Julietta began to panic, running around the room frantically. "Hello? Is anyone there?!" she called out, desperately, knocking on a mirror that she hoped concealed the door.
To her amazement, a beautifully melodious voice called, "Christine? What was that? Did you hear? It seemed someone cried out."
"No, dear, of course not," a woman's voice answered, seemingly from somewhere above Julietta's head. "Who would cry out in this place? You really mustn't say such things."
"I tell you I heard a cry! Did you not hear?" the man's ethereal voice demanded. He seemed to pause, and then quietly ask, "Why do you stand at the window, Christine? You know that is the window to the—Ah, now I understand. There is someone inside, isn't there, my pet. There is someone inside the Torture Chamber!"
"You needn't worry yourself, my dear. Everything is taken care of," the woman calmly replied.
"Ah, my darling. How good of you to spare me this trouble at my age. Tell me, mon ange, what does she look like?"
The woman seemed to shrug. "Rather like many of the others. Quite unremarkable."
Julietta bristled at the remark! Hoe dare she! How dare anyone say she, Julietta, looked just like anyone else! Was that not the evidence right before her eyes, in the mirror?! She was beautiful! She was a goddess! She was a wingless angel sent to earth to bless humanity with her goodness! Just as she was about to tell them so, something shiny at the base of the iron tree caught her eye and she instinctively dove for it, like a deranged beggar on a dropped coin. Unfortunately, it was not a coin, just a stupid little spring that Julietta had accidentally smooshed into the ground. To her left, a trap door suddenly sprung open into a dark passage. Curious, Julietta stood and descended the small staircase. As she reached the dark room at the base of the stairs, it took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Then she screamed.
The floor was covered in bodies! They lay scattered unceremoniously about the floor, laying with their limbs at odd angles and all bearing expressions of horror and agony. Some were more decayed than others, as though they had been there a long time. Most had terrible bruising around their necks, and those that didn't were the most shriveled and dried out. And all of them were women. Some were beautiful, while others were frightfully ugly; some were dressed well, while others were dressed as poorly as Julietta herself; some had terrible scars and signs of old abuse; and some were barely more than children. The room reeked of death and rot and Julietta almost fainted at the sight. She ran up the stairs, screaming, banging on the mirrors, begging to be let out.
From somewhere above, Julietta heard the woman say, "Erik, perhaps you could sing her requiem now? I do so tire of her voice. Apparently, she isn't one of the ones that can sing."
Happily, the man replied, "Of course, my darling! Anything to please you!"
Then, the man sang, and the most beautiful of music to ever grace Julietta's greasy ears reverberated around the room, captivating and astounding her. Her mind became lost in its melody and her breath caught in her throat, making it ever harder to gasp for air in the sweltering heat. A thin trail of sticky tears oozed from her eyes, almost evaporating right off her face. The song was powerful, yet contained a soft rhythm, pulsing around her. Suddenly, she knew. She knew that this song was for her. The Angel of Death was singing her funeral dirge and she must not let such a magnificent song go to waste! With a fierce resolve that was typical of her character, Julietta sat among the roots of the great iron tree and began to fashion the rope into a tight noose.
As the song drew to a close, Christine Daae sat calmly at the window of the Torture Chamber, never once taking her eyes from the hanging body until it fully ceased to thrash. As it finally stilled, swaying gently and slightly steaming in the frightful heat, Christine turned to her husband and said, "That was lovely, dear."
Chapter 2
You ship Erik with what?!
Meg
Madame Giry
Nadir
Raoul
OCs
Christine isn't allowed "on stage" because she has to judge the Dance-Off contest. Mwahahahahaaaa.