AN: This is an 'old' piece I wrote after LITTLE LOTTE but before everything else I've posted here. I found it while doing some cleaning and it did very well on the phantom-phiction site I used to frequent (that was sadly discontinued. sniffle) and I'm glad it's done the same here. More to come, but when I run out of material I'M GOING TO NEED YOUR HELP! This is a more "artsy" piece and non-traditional in its format. I wrote it in aprox. two days after seeing 'Sweeney Todd' for the first time. I consider it a marriage of the two textures and feelings: all the lush emotion and plot that we're used to with all things Phantom, and quite a bit of icy-hot cynicism from the heavy 'Sweeney Todd' influence. K, I'm done talking. Disclaimer: Not mine, except for Genevieve, and you can only have her if you beg and grovel before me. Enjoy, dears! -NELLIE

ELDEST

Morning in the DeChangy household.

The sunless sky, the invisible light within my room, my night-shift, and the excuse of a breakfast that was left for me outside my door were grey.

All grey.

Some thunder boomed outside and I pouted on the floor: Mother's water broke late last night.

No one told me.

She had been careless throughout the entire pregnancy and they had started to think that the baby wouldn't be born at all. Hence, the busy rush, and the desertion of their only daughter.

Me.

I grinned manically: I may not have managed to destroy the being inside Mother, but surely, he would never be as sharp as I. I could still rule. They could still be mine! Mother was a stickler for perfection and surely, after all that she had done, there would be SOMETHING the matter with it. The mind, the body, the soul, something would be damaged!

I had ensured it.

I sat like that on the floor, rocking and grinning in a ragged, demented manner till the grey turned a shade of black,

And it was night.

Silently, I reached for a book, any book would do, they were all beyond the comprehension of the average seven-year old. Or maybe some paper, yes, I could remind them of how well I could sing, and even more so, how well I could speak.

My Voice.

My voice was a wonder, and unheard of phenomenon of power and beauty. And despite the impressions I gave off in company, I was very much aware, and VERY much in control of it.

I made my choice, I would do neither.

I thought of a tune, the sweetest tune that mother and father had ever heard, and I began to sing it right from my room at the top of the house. In Moment's time, I heard their wondrous murmurs.

They were home.

I sang sweeter in order to soothe them from what was either a stillborn birth or a case of mental retardation.

I heard sharp, crisp wails.

IT was alive.

I flowed into a lullaby, the better to make them think that I adored the dirty mass of flesh.

"Nothing's going to harm you,

Not while I'm around.

Demons are prowling ev'rywhere, Now-a-days

I'll send 'em howling,

I don't care, I've got ways

No one's gonna hurt you,

No one's gonna dare.

Others can desert you, not to worry whistle, I'll be there

Demons'll charm you with a smile,

For awhile, But in time…

Nothing can harm you...

Not while I'm

Around."

I admitted to myself that this was an improvement. Never before was I able to tap into actual emotions along with the music itself.

The Murmurs stopped.

I stopped.

IT kept dribbling, and crooning, and wailing, and snarling, and shrieking, and Screaming!!

I came down stairs as fast as I could, my cheeks red from the shock. Why had they stopped? Why had they stopped? The murmurs of approval, they were mine, they were always mine! They DON'T stop!

The entry hall was dimly lit with our normal, grey candles, and the bleary light made the wooden floors shine like precious gold. I could hear mother's cries mixing in with IT'S as I slipped, ever so strategically into father's sight. I came over to where it lay on the couch when Father lifted me into the air and sat me upon his shoulder like he did when I was smaller.

"Up you go sweet heart. My, you're getting to be a big girl, Genevieve! How'd you fair out with the maid today?"

"Fine, Papa." I said, making my voice all magic and sugar. "Where's the baby?"

He paused, suddenly off-guard. I had him now.

"Oh. Um, sweet-heart, I don't think that would be prudent."

"How?"

"Well uh—babies just don't look like themselves when they're born. They need time to—get used to the world. They've never been in it before." Pearls of sweat formed a crown upon his forehead and I carefully wiped it off with my silken, pudgy hand.

"Thank-you, Genevieve." he said.

"You're welcome, Papa. Now may I see the baby? S'il vous plait!"

I saw dear Mother shake, and she gripped the rim of the chair she was standing by with such a force, my half-deaf Father heard it creak. "GOD DAMNIT, PHILIP!!! Let her see the thing!!"

I slid off father's shoulder as he muttered some sort of an apology. IT hadn't stopped, not once during this whole drama and conversation. It wanted attention, and holding, and other revolting rubbish like that. I leaned over the blankets, there was a little scarf over the face.

Deformation? I could only hope.

Coolly, I peeled back the makeshift mask.

Stopped. Everyone Stopped.

And the blaring silence huddled us together too look at IT, my tragically deformed baby brother.

I did not scream, I did not cry, I didn't even vomit, though I did consider laughing at a very warped version of success. I picked him up and looked at the face. Mother was whimpering in the back-ground and the little thing was bleary-eyed because of it. Oh, yes. I knew he understood. In those looming, invisible eyes, I saw an understanding of most of the situation before him. He knew I hated him. I hated him with every fiber of my being, for, because he was so ugly, because he was DEATH itself, and the cries from his throat were almost as hypnotic as mine, and especially because he would be smart, very smart and clever,

he would have them. They would be his.

Their thoughts and dreams and movements would revolve around avoiding him and he would consume them indefinitely. I could sing till I was blue and dry all over, and make as many clever contraptions as I liked, but it would no longer matter. They would be his.

Erik.

Changed everything.