Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom. . .yet. . .*laughs maniacally* No,
really, I seriously don't and most likely never will, so no profit is being
made here.
Author's Note: I thought of this idea somewhere in the middle of my car trip to school. It's a short little POV piece, so I thought it would be a nice way to work back up to long chapters for my other phics. It's deliberately vague, but you can most likely guess the POV before the end. Anyway, here it is, and enjoy.
Feedback: Please
You could say that I see the world through a unique set of eyes: I'm always outside, looking in on those I love, and hate, for that matter, even when I am with them. Rarely do most of them give me a second thought, even though I am always there. There is one, however, one who always protects me and never neglects me, one who defends me and never lets me feel alone. I love him, and I would do anything to be able to tell him that, but I can't.
I've tried to show him, I truly have, but he is a man for whom love is a foreign and hostile thing, and affection is a mystery. In the beginning, we would sit together, him and I, enjoying the silence and the feeling of being together. Sometimes, he would absent-mindedly run his long, thin fingers through my hair, or call my name to bid me come closer. Still, though there was warmth in his actions, I always felt his heart lay elsewhere; in his music, perhaps, or, possibly, with another. . .
One day, it all became abhorrently clear. She came, like a conqueror, claiming her latest prize. She seemed afraid of him, but I saw through that; it was clear to me she loved him. I don't think even she knew that, but when he sang, I could see her eyes light up with this look of sheer exultation; a profound love that was meant only for him.
I hated her for it. She possessed a superior voice, almost as good as his. . . almost. Without any effort, she could have expressed her feelings, and made him a happy man in an instant.
She didn't.
Oh, how I loathed her; her cerulean eyes and her pale, luminous skin. He would stare at her, longingly, as she looked away from him like a coward. His forehead, or what showed of it from behind that black mask he favored, would furrow in frustration and he would always leave her as dejected as when he came.
The mask was the thing that perplexed me the most. He was always hiding; in shadows, beneath his mask, in the depths of his entrancing music. I wanted to force him out of the darkness he accepted blindly, and into the light he so feared. My savior, my beloved - he never knew what he was missing, of course, he never even tried.
She sapped his strength, his will to live. She threw her love away under the vestiges of another; a handsome, if boorish looking, man who she appeared with one night. I hid in the shadows, watching as my beloved stealthily slipped his Punjab lasso around the man's neck. The girl stood, staring blindly, dumbly, as he circled her, imploring her one last time to be his.
She refused, and he let her go.
The mob came, and my beloved hid in one of his secret chambers as they destroyed his - our - home. I stayed inconspicuous in the shadows and watched as they pillaged and ravaged. I wondered what my simple, beautiful beloved could have done to earn such a terrible wrath as this. In that moment, I convinced myself that humanity was pure folly.
In that moment, I cared only for him, for he was above it all.
Terrified, I stayed in my hiding place until the seething throng was long gone. Carefully, I crept out into what was left of the house, to find him, kneeling before the smoking, shattered remnants of his pipe organ. I approached him slowly, silently, knowing the music had left this place forever in more ways than one. He noticed me, and turned to face me, tears forming in his eyes.
He was unmasked, and never had I seen him look more perfect.
He reached out to me, gingerly picking me up, and softly whispering, "Ayesha, you still love me, don't you? You haven't left me, you never left me. . ."
He stood, still holding me in his arms, and took me to his room, which was torn apart as well. His coffin was on the floor, but still upright and intact. He laid down, and I rested on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he stroked my hair. Over time, the sound faded, and the motion stopped. His chest stopped its steady rise and fall, and I could no longer feel the warmth of his body. It was then I realized that he was gone, and that I was alone.
I stayed there for a long while, keeping a silent vigil over him. It was ironic to me; that after so much of his time spent protectively watching over me, I was now the one guarding him. Some time later, the one he had called 'Nadir' came and found us. He shed a single tear for my beloved, although plainer and deeper emotions were written on his face. He picked me up, and, though I didn't want to leave, I knew I had to. We left, and I soon found myself in another place, another house, though it would never be my home.
Author's Note: I thought of this idea somewhere in the middle of my car trip to school. It's a short little POV piece, so I thought it would be a nice way to work back up to long chapters for my other phics. It's deliberately vague, but you can most likely guess the POV before the end. Anyway, here it is, and enjoy.
Feedback: Please
You could say that I see the world through a unique set of eyes: I'm always outside, looking in on those I love, and hate, for that matter, even when I am with them. Rarely do most of them give me a second thought, even though I am always there. There is one, however, one who always protects me and never neglects me, one who defends me and never lets me feel alone. I love him, and I would do anything to be able to tell him that, but I can't.
I've tried to show him, I truly have, but he is a man for whom love is a foreign and hostile thing, and affection is a mystery. In the beginning, we would sit together, him and I, enjoying the silence and the feeling of being together. Sometimes, he would absent-mindedly run his long, thin fingers through my hair, or call my name to bid me come closer. Still, though there was warmth in his actions, I always felt his heart lay elsewhere; in his music, perhaps, or, possibly, with another. . .
One day, it all became abhorrently clear. She came, like a conqueror, claiming her latest prize. She seemed afraid of him, but I saw through that; it was clear to me she loved him. I don't think even she knew that, but when he sang, I could see her eyes light up with this look of sheer exultation; a profound love that was meant only for him.
I hated her for it. She possessed a superior voice, almost as good as his. . . almost. Without any effort, she could have expressed her feelings, and made him a happy man in an instant.
She didn't.
Oh, how I loathed her; her cerulean eyes and her pale, luminous skin. He would stare at her, longingly, as she looked away from him like a coward. His forehead, or what showed of it from behind that black mask he favored, would furrow in frustration and he would always leave her as dejected as when he came.
The mask was the thing that perplexed me the most. He was always hiding; in shadows, beneath his mask, in the depths of his entrancing music. I wanted to force him out of the darkness he accepted blindly, and into the light he so feared. My savior, my beloved - he never knew what he was missing, of course, he never even tried.
She sapped his strength, his will to live. She threw her love away under the vestiges of another; a handsome, if boorish looking, man who she appeared with one night. I hid in the shadows, watching as my beloved stealthily slipped his Punjab lasso around the man's neck. The girl stood, staring blindly, dumbly, as he circled her, imploring her one last time to be his.
She refused, and he let her go.
The mob came, and my beloved hid in one of his secret chambers as they destroyed his - our - home. I stayed inconspicuous in the shadows and watched as they pillaged and ravaged. I wondered what my simple, beautiful beloved could have done to earn such a terrible wrath as this. In that moment, I convinced myself that humanity was pure folly.
In that moment, I cared only for him, for he was above it all.
Terrified, I stayed in my hiding place until the seething throng was long gone. Carefully, I crept out into what was left of the house, to find him, kneeling before the smoking, shattered remnants of his pipe organ. I approached him slowly, silently, knowing the music had left this place forever in more ways than one. He noticed me, and turned to face me, tears forming in his eyes.
He was unmasked, and never had I seen him look more perfect.
He reached out to me, gingerly picking me up, and softly whispering, "Ayesha, you still love me, don't you? You haven't left me, you never left me. . ."
He stood, still holding me in his arms, and took me to his room, which was torn apart as well. His coffin was on the floor, but still upright and intact. He laid down, and I rested on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he stroked my hair. Over time, the sound faded, and the motion stopped. His chest stopped its steady rise and fall, and I could no longer feel the warmth of his body. It was then I realized that he was gone, and that I was alone.
I stayed there for a long while, keeping a silent vigil over him. It was ironic to me; that after so much of his time spent protectively watching over me, I was now the one guarding him. Some time later, the one he had called 'Nadir' came and found us. He shed a single tear for my beloved, although plainer and deeper emotions were written on his face. He picked me up, and, though I didn't want to leave, I knew I had to. We left, and I soon found myself in another place, another house, though it would never be my home.