Dear Diary, Dear Erik
Phantom Phanfiction
Summary: Follows the 2004 movie, mixed with some of the screen play and the book by Gaston Leroux. Starts after Raoul sets the music box down by Christine's grave. He had left something else too. A diary…
Prologue
Raoul's eyes tear up and he shakes a little and he shakes a little as he sees the red rose with the black ribbon lying there. He notices the ring as well. So, he was still alive. Raoul smiled sadly, bitterly. She had wanted to see him before she…
Raoul started coughing from the sobs that sobs that racked his withered frame before he managed to calm himself. He couldn't bear to think of his wife, the mother of his children who had been so warm and loving, lying in a cold, dark tomb six feet underground. She said she had wanted to see and hear her Angel of Music one last time…
Fumbling, Raoul took something out of his jacket.
A large, black leather-bound book with gold outlining. On the cover were two words in red, the intricate writing standing out against the black.
Pour Erik, For Erik.
Gently, he set the book beside the music box. Christine had left almost everything in her possession to him and their children. A few things to her old friend, Meg Giry who was still mourning the loss of her mother, the good Madame Giry. But she had left one thing to her old teacher; her journal. She had left specific instructions in her last days that when she died, he was to take it and have those words inscribed on the front. Neither he nor their children were to read it. He was then to find out whether her teacher was still alive or not. If not, then he was to try and find Nadir and have him bury it next to him. If Nadir was no longer living or neither Nadir nor her teacher's location could be found, then he was to burn it and scatter the ashes in the cellars of the old Opera Populaire, where his home had been.
Looking around, he saw other wilted red roses nearby so he figured they must have been replaced daily by the numbers of old rose blooms scattered among the leaves are barely discernable among them unless you were looking for them.
The wind picked up, irritating his fragile lungs and he coughed some more.
"Are you alright Father?" the musical voice of his daughter asked from behind him, concerned. He smiled. She reminded him so much of her mother…
He managed to calm his coughing fit and smiled. "Yes, I'm fine Caroline…" he said to his only daughter behind him.
"Well, come on, Father. We should be going all the same. The weather is turning bad…" the deep masculine voice of his only son Daniel said, standing next to his younger sister.
Raoul sighed in silent consent as they wheeled him away. He cast one final glance at his dear wife's grave, close to her father's, sobbing before his eyes traveled to where the music box was. His breath caught in his throat as he noticed the journal was gone already. He cast several glances around the area before looking ahead, his face pale and he knew.
He's there, the Phantom of the Opera…
Hello. Good or no? Suggestions are welcome as is constructive criticism. Hope you liked it. No rough language, as usual, or the favor will be returned to you as usual, unless you're like some of those people who put 'Damn that was good!' or something like that. I had that question once. Just no cussing me or anybody else out. Rating may change to M later. Don't worry, chapters will be longer. The prologue is just short. No I don't own Phantom of the Opera. And I don't own Erik. I'm just borrowing him. With no intent of returning him. Please R&R. Fay.