Hello!
So finals week has finally come to a close and all of the plot ideas that have been formulating in my mind have finally been transcribed! I have so many one-shots planned and I am almost done with the next chapter for Maestro. So keep an eye out for that!
I've also got another short story in the works, a bit more in the Christmas spirit then any of the others. I absolutely adore this time of year. Be prepared for this one too!
This one-shot, like the other, will be a series of vignettes. Once the song is done, the story will be finished. I would highly recommend listening to these songs all the way through. They truly remind me of our lovely couple and fully inspire these tales!
AND another citation, because I'm in college: Trans-Siberian Orchestra. "There was a life." Night Castle. Atlantic Records. 2009. CD.
From yours truly,
Phantome
"There was a life
Was there before
But somehow here upon this night
It now means more"
-Trans-Siberian Orchestra
His boots echoed through the halls. Stomping into the pavement hoping it could absorb his anger if only for a moment. Erik was furious- furious as one can be after seeing that ghastly man lay his hands on an innocent ballet rat. He had held himself back, avoiding conflict at the request of Antoinette, and allowed his voice to defuse the scene in front of him. Joseph Buquet had left in a hurry, tying up his breeches and leaving the girl in a heap of tears on the floor. Although Erik wanted to offer comfort, he feared for her own sanity and decided against it. Baring himself to a woman had never been in his best interest, often trying to rid his mind of the screams with a bottle of alcohol hours later. Yet, when he had informed the manager of this incident through a letter, he had dismissed it as if the occurrence had no real value to him.
Erik often wondered why he remained in this blasted place. No one listened to his voice no matter how severe the matter was. He loathed the lack of control he had over things around him, and decided that he had no real place in this opera house. After all, he was a grimy man who wandered the barren halls at night- listening to giggling voices and pads of feet echoing above him. Once Antoinette had brought him here, he didn't know what to do with himself. He often amused the time with art and violin practice and being fascinated with the orchestra he often watched from the shadows. At one point, he had even tried his hand at the art of ballet, twisting and turning like the men he had seen on stage. But one wrong turn had him falling in front of a mirror and one look into it had him laughing with hysteria as to why he ever thought he could be as beautiful as them.
Restless all the time, he took to learning the music of each opera performed. Memorizing the notes by heart and transferring them to the violin he kept beside him. People would often inquire about the lonely violin music drifting through the foyers but no one thought to investigate, which suited Erik just fine. But here he was now, trying to make a difference in the affairs of the young ballet rats and he was dismissed once more. Did his life truly hold no value or sway in the world? Isn't that was the purpose was for keeping him alive all this time? To use his vast talents to help create a more beautiful place to be?
Erik paused in the corridor, allowing a brief laugh to escape his lips at the absurdity of it all. What was a life without no meaning in it? God must truly despise the devil's child after all. He had never shown mercy towards Erik in any form. Well, perhaps the brief sanctuary that Antoinette had provided him and for that he would be ever grateful. But he still longed to be something more. And at this moment, he wasn't anything more than a human corpse.
A bottle of brandy slid from his coat and he welcomed the warm liquid into his throat. With a slight cough, he decided to venture outside for a bit. The night was still alive and he figured the shadows should be enough to conceal him. He didn't plan on remaining out there long, but enough to guarantee that the cold would chase away these cruel thoughts. His long legs were moving down the hall, towards the chapel where he would leave through the iron gate Antoinette had opened for him.
"I'm waiting, Papa." Erik paused, his foot hovering over the floor of the chapel. He was about to step out from the alcove when a small voice entered the air. A small form sat on the floor, ragged brown skirts bellowing out around her. She appeared to be no older than 10 years of age. Her brown hair was curtained around her face while her arms wrapped around her torso. Erik felt his heart flicker at the sight of her trembling body. He did not hear any tears, but could plainly see them in her heart.
"You promised me and he hasn't come yet." Her voice sounded desperate. Was this girl lost? He opened his mouth to question her but smacked his lips shut. It wasn't his place to intrude on this girl's affairs. Whatever she was doing had absolutely nothing to do with him.
"Angel of music, why have you not visit?" She sang softly to herself, as if in sarcastic delight at her vacant friend. Her body shook harder and he realized that she must have been very cold. The draft in the chapel was not concealed at all. The iron gate led directly to the outside and provided little shelter from the harsh winds. Another gust had his coat swirling by his feet and the little girl let out a groan, pulling herself inwards even more. Erik fought the urge to place his coat over the girl, but knew better than to frighten her with his ghostly form. So he waited, hoping for her to leave in order for him to go outside. But it appeared she had no rush for she had sat there for quite some time. Not speaking a word but allowing the cold to reach her bones as she tremored violently.
Erik had lost his patience with this girl. Pushing against the alcove he quietly stepped down out of her view and moved towards the gate. His fingers reached out to grasp the frame when he heard it.
Her lips moved slowly, pursing with each syllable in a language he knew to be Swedish. The sound of her voice froze him on the spot, a truly amiable chill settled through his body extending to his fingers and toes. He couldn't breathe and felt a heavy weight settle in his chest, taking a firm hold of his heart. And he knew at this moment, this little girl had him. Her voice had wiggled itself into him and now held him immobile. He had never been so afraid in his entire life. Not even when the gypsy man entered his cage with a new whip and masochistic grin. No, he knew that this little girl held a power over him like no other. He hated feeling her little fingers press here and there into his heart as if she were manipulating his pulse into her voice. But what frightened him most, was if those little fingers squeezed only a trifle more, he would die.
He slowly pulled away from the gate, moving back into the shadows. He listened intently to her song and the sadness she sewed into every word. And once she finished her melody, lying her hand affectionately on a picture he hadn't noticed before, did he finally open his mouth.
"Dear child…"