"Erik is dead."
He laughed and tossed the Epoque aside, his normally deadened eyes flickering with what looked like a spark of life.
"Goodness, Daroga, sometimes you really do amuse me too much," he said, two eerily yellow orbs traveling beyond the paper to a wrinkled, Persian man on a couch nearby.
Nadir scowled over at Erik, his lips pausing at the rim of a small cup in his hand. "Amuse you? How so?"
"To think," said Erik, his eyes again twinkling with laughter, "To think that you would not at least wait until I was properly dead to publish such an advertisement." His eyes, which had been so alive with such flame only seconds before, seemed to suddenly extinguish as a dark thought crossed his mind. "Though it will not be too inaccurate in time, I am afraid. Christine..." he added in a sad murmur, his distorted lips puckering into a frown.
"They will be secure now," Nadir replied confidently. "While they think you dead, they will no longer fear for their own well-being. They will be happy together."
"Oh, don't I know it, Daroga!" moaned Erik, his skeletally thin fingers clutching at the white mask that covered his face. "Don't I know it! Oh, if only! Could she not be happy with me as well? Could I not have made her happy? Oh, this wretched face! Oh, Christine!"
"Do not speak of it anymore, Erik," said the Persian sternly, surveying the so-called "Phantom of the Opera" over his glasses. "It is over."
"Yes, Daroga, it is over. Soon, it will be finished. I must say that I gladly welcome Death, though he has taken all too long in knocking upon my door." And without warning, Erik whirled his black cape around his shoulders and disappeared into the shadows of the room beyond.
The Persian gave a start. He had no way of getting back above ground except by way of the small boat left by the shore of the underground lake. Though he had no desire to linger in Erik's tomb-like home, he could not help but feel that leaving Erik without any escape to the upper floors would prove irritable to the Phantom's fatalistic temper. Nervously, he dropped the teacup in his hands with a clunk against the table and stood, gazing out into the shadows beyond.
"Erik?" he called anxiously. "Erik, don't play games with me, I am not at all in the mood. Erik?"
But there was no reply.
Deciding that the Opera Ghost surely had other means of escape from his sombre dwelling, the Persian eased himself into the small boat and rowed back to shore, a sense of unease still prevalent in his heart.
* * *
Erik gently hoisted himself through a trapdoor leading to the stage. Normally he would not take the risk of flagrant exposure, but he was quite sure that the cast had broken for lunch and would not return for at least another fifteen minutes. However, he did not expect to see one of the opera house's manager, M. Debienne, standing in the center aisle a well-dressed couple. For the first time since Christine's flight, Erik felt a stirring of actual interest in the outside world. Who were they, and why had they tread their jeweled feet into his theater?
"Lovely," murmured the man. He had long, light brown hair tucked into a neat ponytail and a tan, handsome face. Erik shriveled behind the curtain in jealously. Only if had been so blessed! "Simply divine."
"Your fiancée will be comforted to know that we have a separate room arranged for her," M. Debienne reassured the couple, his salt-and-peppered eyebrows twitching slightly at the bottom of his creased forehead.
"Yes, good, good," murmured the ponytailed man, stroking his chin as if he expected a beard to appear there. "After all, we mustn't let my darling's reputation be tarnished." He was a slightly effeminate man, the intonation of his voice entirely too gentle and greasy to be a truly upright man. Almost immediately after he had uttered the word "darling", Erik felt an inhuman shudder course through his body. All at once he hated the man. He hated him for being handsome, but mostly, he hated him for a reason he could not describe.
"Darling?"
Again Erik shivered at the word, but his discomfort soon melted into amusement. Who was the man talking to? The walls? Erik saw so sign of any female companionship, and his longhaired intruder seemed to notice it as well.
"Confound it! That girl's always running off," growled the man, his gentle manner immediately being stripped away in his plight. "I swear, I thought by giving into this ridiculous whim might have tamed her completely uncivilized love for the theater, but it seems to only have made her more birdlike--"
"I assure you she is safe," said M. Debienne nervously. "There are many ladies in the chorus who will surely see to it that she is safe, however I must warn you--"
"Dear God, has she gone on the stage?" cried the man, his velvet cloak quivering with rage as he stalked towards the stage steps.
Erik quickly pulled himself further into the curtains, with only his yellowish eyes revealed. He would take flight if the man came any closer, but at the moment, he felt secure. That is, until he felt an odd rustling from behind him. In spite of himself, he inhaled sharply. He did not enjoy being this close to any human other than Daroga, and he dearly wished he were back beneath the stage. A little longer and he would have to reveal himself to the entire cast, making the ladies scream in fright and the men roar in murderous protest. He silently began to curse the bejeweled man that had dared befoul first, his theater, and now his stage.
However, it was not the man who rustled in the folds of the curtain behind him. It was a lady, dressed from shoulder to toe in a dark, modestly red dress, obviously of fine quality. Her hair was blonde and unnaturally long, falling in waves that might by some standards be considered disheveled. At the moment, though, she did not seem to care very much for her appearance. Her eyes were wide with an excitement and shone with an odd color-- A murky ocean blue rimming an odd yellow inside. From far away, one could call her eyes green. But the Phantom was close enough to see that her eyes were almost as yellow as his, had the outer blue not neutralized this odd color. A wide smile spread across her face, which was very round and very rosy, and she seemed entirely too excited to breathe. Overall, Erik had to admit that she was exquisitely beautiful, though she had the unfortunate plight of carrying a little bit of extra weight around her hips. That is what riches will do, he thought, staring at her in fascination. He had not been this close to a woman since Christine had left him, and the rich woman's perfume had an odd way of heightening his senses.
The woman suddenly gasped loudly, and for a moment, Erik thought he had been discovered. It was not him that the woman had discovered, though; it was the scenery.
"Why, how lovely! How incredibly beautiful!" she cried, her voice quavering with excitement as she stretched her hands upwards towards the painted walls. "Is it finished yet?"
"My dear!" The longhaired man had reappeared. "This is most improper. Come, let the good M'sieur show you to your room. It is a mere dressing room, I am afraid, but it will have to do."
She seemed not to notice him, but kept staring at the scenery with glazed eyes. "I had always wished to sing against the backdrop of one of these beautiful things."
"Adelyn!" exclaimed the longhaired fool. "I will not have you ever saying such things, ever again!" He grabbed her arm roughly. "Are you listening to me? Are you?"
"Turn me loose!" she cried, squirming in a most unladylike fashion.
"I hope it does," he hissed peevishly, jerking her away from her beloved scenery. "For God's sake, I give in to every one of your childish tantrums, I take you to the Paris Opera House, at great time and expense, and all I ask is that you act like a lady-- A lady worthy of being my wife! And yet there you stand, talking like a dithering fool about how you want to be some lowdown--"
"You will not speak like that!" snapped Adelyn fierily. "Even the chorus girls have three times the talent of you! What did you ever do to earn a place for yourself, other than be born under an immorally wealthy man?"
Erik no longer had a clear view of the pair, but after hearing such a statement from Adelyn, he had no doubt that the man would strike her. However, no cry came from the lady. The next he saw them, they were making their way back down the theater aisle. The man looked cheerful, but Adelyn was scowling.
Perhaps she is only pretending, thought Erik interestedly. Then he scowled himself. Or, perhaps she enjoys being upon the arm of a rich, handsome man. Yes, I am sure that is it.
Without a backward glance, Erik flew down the closest trapdoor and into the abyss below.
He laughed and tossed the Epoque aside, his normally deadened eyes flickering with what looked like a spark of life.
"Goodness, Daroga, sometimes you really do amuse me too much," he said, two eerily yellow orbs traveling beyond the paper to a wrinkled, Persian man on a couch nearby.
Nadir scowled over at Erik, his lips pausing at the rim of a small cup in his hand. "Amuse you? How so?"
"To think," said Erik, his eyes again twinkling with laughter, "To think that you would not at least wait until I was properly dead to publish such an advertisement." His eyes, which had been so alive with such flame only seconds before, seemed to suddenly extinguish as a dark thought crossed his mind. "Though it will not be too inaccurate in time, I am afraid. Christine..." he added in a sad murmur, his distorted lips puckering into a frown.
"They will be secure now," Nadir replied confidently. "While they think you dead, they will no longer fear for their own well-being. They will be happy together."
"Oh, don't I know it, Daroga!" moaned Erik, his skeletally thin fingers clutching at the white mask that covered his face. "Don't I know it! Oh, if only! Could she not be happy with me as well? Could I not have made her happy? Oh, this wretched face! Oh, Christine!"
"Do not speak of it anymore, Erik," said the Persian sternly, surveying the so-called "Phantom of the Opera" over his glasses. "It is over."
"Yes, Daroga, it is over. Soon, it will be finished. I must say that I gladly welcome Death, though he has taken all too long in knocking upon my door." And without warning, Erik whirled his black cape around his shoulders and disappeared into the shadows of the room beyond.
The Persian gave a start. He had no way of getting back above ground except by way of the small boat left by the shore of the underground lake. Though he had no desire to linger in Erik's tomb-like home, he could not help but feel that leaving Erik without any escape to the upper floors would prove irritable to the Phantom's fatalistic temper. Nervously, he dropped the teacup in his hands with a clunk against the table and stood, gazing out into the shadows beyond.
"Erik?" he called anxiously. "Erik, don't play games with me, I am not at all in the mood. Erik?"
But there was no reply.
Deciding that the Opera Ghost surely had other means of escape from his sombre dwelling, the Persian eased himself into the small boat and rowed back to shore, a sense of unease still prevalent in his heart.
* * *
Erik gently hoisted himself through a trapdoor leading to the stage. Normally he would not take the risk of flagrant exposure, but he was quite sure that the cast had broken for lunch and would not return for at least another fifteen minutes. However, he did not expect to see one of the opera house's manager, M. Debienne, standing in the center aisle a well-dressed couple. For the first time since Christine's flight, Erik felt a stirring of actual interest in the outside world. Who were they, and why had they tread their jeweled feet into his theater?
"Lovely," murmured the man. He had long, light brown hair tucked into a neat ponytail and a tan, handsome face. Erik shriveled behind the curtain in jealously. Only if had been so blessed! "Simply divine."
"Your fiancée will be comforted to know that we have a separate room arranged for her," M. Debienne reassured the couple, his salt-and-peppered eyebrows twitching slightly at the bottom of his creased forehead.
"Yes, good, good," murmured the ponytailed man, stroking his chin as if he expected a beard to appear there. "After all, we mustn't let my darling's reputation be tarnished." He was a slightly effeminate man, the intonation of his voice entirely too gentle and greasy to be a truly upright man. Almost immediately after he had uttered the word "darling", Erik felt an inhuman shudder course through his body. All at once he hated the man. He hated him for being handsome, but mostly, he hated him for a reason he could not describe.
"Darling?"
Again Erik shivered at the word, but his discomfort soon melted into amusement. Who was the man talking to? The walls? Erik saw so sign of any female companionship, and his longhaired intruder seemed to notice it as well.
"Confound it! That girl's always running off," growled the man, his gentle manner immediately being stripped away in his plight. "I swear, I thought by giving into this ridiculous whim might have tamed her completely uncivilized love for the theater, but it seems to only have made her more birdlike--"
"I assure you she is safe," said M. Debienne nervously. "There are many ladies in the chorus who will surely see to it that she is safe, however I must warn you--"
"Dear God, has she gone on the stage?" cried the man, his velvet cloak quivering with rage as he stalked towards the stage steps.
Erik quickly pulled himself further into the curtains, with only his yellowish eyes revealed. He would take flight if the man came any closer, but at the moment, he felt secure. That is, until he felt an odd rustling from behind him. In spite of himself, he inhaled sharply. He did not enjoy being this close to any human other than Daroga, and he dearly wished he were back beneath the stage. A little longer and he would have to reveal himself to the entire cast, making the ladies scream in fright and the men roar in murderous protest. He silently began to curse the bejeweled man that had dared befoul first, his theater, and now his stage.
However, it was not the man who rustled in the folds of the curtain behind him. It was a lady, dressed from shoulder to toe in a dark, modestly red dress, obviously of fine quality. Her hair was blonde and unnaturally long, falling in waves that might by some standards be considered disheveled. At the moment, though, she did not seem to care very much for her appearance. Her eyes were wide with an excitement and shone with an odd color-- A murky ocean blue rimming an odd yellow inside. From far away, one could call her eyes green. But the Phantom was close enough to see that her eyes were almost as yellow as his, had the outer blue not neutralized this odd color. A wide smile spread across her face, which was very round and very rosy, and she seemed entirely too excited to breathe. Overall, Erik had to admit that she was exquisitely beautiful, though she had the unfortunate plight of carrying a little bit of extra weight around her hips. That is what riches will do, he thought, staring at her in fascination. He had not been this close to a woman since Christine had left him, and the rich woman's perfume had an odd way of heightening his senses.
The woman suddenly gasped loudly, and for a moment, Erik thought he had been discovered. It was not him that the woman had discovered, though; it was the scenery.
"Why, how lovely! How incredibly beautiful!" she cried, her voice quavering with excitement as she stretched her hands upwards towards the painted walls. "Is it finished yet?"
"My dear!" The longhaired man had reappeared. "This is most improper. Come, let the good M'sieur show you to your room. It is a mere dressing room, I am afraid, but it will have to do."
She seemed not to notice him, but kept staring at the scenery with glazed eyes. "I had always wished to sing against the backdrop of one of these beautiful things."
"Adelyn!" exclaimed the longhaired fool. "I will not have you ever saying such things, ever again!" He grabbed her arm roughly. "Are you listening to me? Are you?"
"Turn me loose!" she cried, squirming in a most unladylike fashion.
"I hope it does," he hissed peevishly, jerking her away from her beloved scenery. "For God's sake, I give in to every one of your childish tantrums, I take you to the Paris Opera House, at great time and expense, and all I ask is that you act like a lady-- A lady worthy of being my wife! And yet there you stand, talking like a dithering fool about how you want to be some lowdown--"
"You will not speak like that!" snapped Adelyn fierily. "Even the chorus girls have three times the talent of you! What did you ever do to earn a place for yourself, other than be born under an immorally wealthy man?"
Erik no longer had a clear view of the pair, but after hearing such a statement from Adelyn, he had no doubt that the man would strike her. However, no cry came from the lady. The next he saw them, they were making their way back down the theater aisle. The man looked cheerful, but Adelyn was scowling.
Perhaps she is only pretending, thought Erik interestedly. Then he scowled himself. Or, perhaps she enjoys being upon the arm of a rich, handsome man. Yes, I am sure that is it.
Without a backward glance, Erik flew down the closest trapdoor and into the abyss below.