Bonjour!

This has been my muse for a while now, ever since this past summer when I have written In My Childish Fears. This is another take of what happened from Erik's point of view (who else). This is kind of a risky attempt to me. I'm kind of tipping my feet into the cold water with this matter, after practicing writing from his mind in a manner. I like to think this Erik less dark in his thinking, but his actual motive is something different. In My Childish Fears felt incomplete to me when I was writing it because you really didn't get the entire story when Christine is terribly biased, and you don't get my real intending effect of it as I thought it should be.

So, this would have to be a test of new challenging heights for me. After going in depth and studying more literature during my time in school I've held a grasp of what real writing is compared to mine, and I hope, that by the end of the school year this will be complete. I have a lot more written, but I need criticism from other phans. As my Creative Writing teacher puts it, when you write something, it's like you're married to it and you can't criticize it thoroughly even if you wanted to. I need eyes, people, and words!

Enjoy and REVIEW s'il vous plait!

~The Phantom's Flutist~


Sing For Absolution

Prologue

"These violent delights have violent ends,

and in their triumph die,

like fire and powder."

-Romeo and Juliet

I should have never been born with emotion. Is it even possible? I think not, but it's nice to imagine I don't feel anything like when my hands have wound around someone's neck, or when there's a cold body laying in front of my feet. I don't feel remorse. Why can't it be that I should never fell in love?

It wasn't hard to break something I knew was already broken. She was about to die before I came to her, the way she moved was like a limp rag doll, and she never talked. But when she sang, it's like the dead girl never existed. When she sang she set my black soul alight... her voice so pure and ethereal and for the first time in the world, I fell in love with an object that I could hold, grasp, and tell it everything is going to be okay. But it's a shame I can't hold anything. I can only break them like a bird trapped between my hands... and it died there.

At the time, it was a good idea. To take her from the world that had been so cruel to her and show her the life I alone could provide for her--love, a wealthy suitor, opportunities for education, and utmost loyal companionship, along with days dedicated to our passion which is music, and I would make her voice exceptional. I succeeded in only two of those it seems. And that, altogether really was depressing.

Most importantly, I loved her. Hell, I still love her. I'd really like to die if it made her happy, but I seem to not be able to do anything right, for dying, however, wasn't an option either.

Chapter 1:

Da Capo

How I met the girl who twisted my life even more so, you ask? It was silly, really, thinking back on it.

It was a time when I was on a low of things to do and my life was just wasting away by the day and the hour. Now don't think my further actions were caused by boredom, just... hatred of life itself. Nadir had finally somewhat given up on me when I started another addiction to a drug that was much better than anything you could smoke... morphine was the light of my life at the time taking its rightful place right next to music.\. For the umpteenth time in my life, I was alone. It was like the type of alone that swallows you up whole after you've committed a heinous act. Well, actually, you might not be able to relate. At this time I thought about suicide often, but when I thought back on it when I was in a slightly lighter mood, I was far too accomplished for any of that.

I needed someone else. There has always been an empty void in my life, something that I could never fulfill entirely. From the grandest architecture company, to my magnum opus and with money that one can only bulge their eyes out when looking, I had achieved all I had really could, and still have the job of working constantly. Power had kept me physically busy, but my mind was elsewhere. I could never figure it out.

It was one night when I had decided to give myself an enjoyment by personally critiquing on a fairly good budget high school-level production. Quite frankly, the acting was horrible, yet the voices were exquisite. My attention was brought upon one of the soloists with a co-starring part who liked to smile a lot with curly hair that hardly managed to be brought into a perky ponytail, and a voice that was crystalline... Not too skinny, not too big, either. And her name was Christine Daae.

She was a freshman, and yet she had a leading part. Very rare, very talented, and very sure about herself being only fourteen years old. I looked to the playbill for the production and noted the small background where she comes from, with only two relatives and two friends to thank compared to the other girls, she led a small life. Yet when she was on this stage, and when she opened her mouth to sing, she was someone who shined... unlike the other girls who liked to suck the spotlight up away from the poor girl.

Perhaps it was fate that brought me there that summer night to an amateur theater group when I could be in the big name opera houses enjoying myself perhaps in Europe somewhere, or even back to Paris. God, maybe, but I had such little faith, it would be very cruel to finally decide to dote upon me now. Whatever it was, it gave me Christine Daae, and she needed that particular attention more than I thought. Yet, whatever, perhaps that same force, that had me love Christine more than my life, more than my music, was very cruel. The same way it gave me Madeleine as a mother, an unknown father, and a chief-of-police as a friend, each brought me a wave of what now makes up my life.

I can only name the people who have ever mattered to me on one hand, and Christine wrapped herself around one of those fingers and grabbed hold... I couldn't take her off. Since when has a woman charmed me such as she has?

I laid low for the next few months, regretting what I have ever thought about her thinking it just another lowly thing that's passed through my life, but I couldn't exactly keep my mind off of her. And I have no idea why or how. Maybe it was the morphine was coming to my head now. It took a few weeks to get over it, to learn how to not care and feel the nothingness I have always felt. Eventually, I did, but it was hard.

I learned a few months later that I knew why I was looking through her profile in the arts...

One night she had a Christmas concert with her ensemble group sponsored by one of the most prestigious conservatories on the east coast which was Peabody. Myself, being the main gracious giver to this function, was obliged to attend, but for more than one reason. I heard she had a solo. Whether it be her charm from the stage or her voice, I simply had to hear it again.

It was in a small concert hall that was built for the high school Christine Daae attended, it was known for the arts because of the county she lived in, which made her the picturesque recipient to such great education in music and the performing arts. But there was more than hammered-in training that showed when she sang. She had no exceptional traits, she fit in well with the white-and-black dressed students that were mostly taller than her, she had no extremes of anything, with the curly hair, and she was simply average. But when she sang... it was like all of that changed. She went from the homely girl in the background to the angel that dared to open her mouth and sing. The choir backed her up, and the entire thing was done a Capella.

She sang the Christmas carol O Holy Night with that exceptional voice of hers, she lifted her chin up, fixed her posture. I could see no trace of nerve in her being as if everything was natural. Not that there were not a little over two hundred eyes watching her intently, and the eyes of the chorus that were the eyes of hungry wolves. She looked somewhere, but I couldn't tell where until I looked in more closely, but it seemed like she was looking right at me as she sang. I was getting carried away with myself, for it was very unlikely. I followed the direction of her eyes to see that she was looking at a man sitting not far from where I hid, and I could see him silently weeping, while on the edge of his seat. It was obviously her father. She didn't sing for the chorus' jealousy, or to grace the crowd with her heavenly voice, or her self confidence... she sang only for that man.

It was a pang in my stomach that made me want to hold that voice of hers and mold it to become perfection in itself. She sang good, a nice clear tone, but she had to have more to make it professional at such a young age. What made it surprising was that she was only fourteen... She could change from soprano to alto within a few weeks and her voice might be entirely changed. I couldn't let that happen. It was the first time I wanted to make contact with a person so much, though she was only fourteen, and would probably turn and run at my first approach. She was the type to turn and run at her own shadow, which was what I have seen, if it wasn't for her friend Meghan Giry to turn her around and keep going. I believe she would have been ran over altogether with the approaches this world makes on her. She was a jewel in the rough, and I couldn't touch it because I would hurt it with my fingerprints that might be permanent on her. But my desire to hone that voice never ceased to gnaw away at my insides, and a peculiar longing began.

She was approached by many of the audience members that came to compliment her and her achievements. I had to restrain myself from making any sort of contact, and it was probably one of the hardest things I'm yet to do... restrain myself from my own desires. All but one have been fulfilled even with today's technology. There was this one boy that didn't seem to go away, and she seemed to have known him. She smiled when he was close enough, he wrapped his arms around her small frame and kissed her cheek, handing her a bouquet of daisies. They knew each other. He was a handsome boy for his age, golden hair and athletic build. Him with his arm around her made it seem that she was a different girl. Her father was fine with this, unlike most fathers... but how would I know? It was all so natural, and the pains began to become worse. It was so perfect and fine and I knew I would disturb every part of their peace if I put up my selfish desire to teach her music...

I left the concert hall quickly after that, and began to chastise myself for even thinking about Christine Daae. It was silly of me, she was so young... at least eleven years younger than myself. I needed to get away from it, and begin to think on more things, but it was so hard. Everything I did reminded me of what more I could do. I listed all the reasons of why it would be unreasonable to make contact with her, but my unreasonable mind spoke in more strongly. It quickly became instinct for me to come up with reasons of why I should look over her fragility, to make sure nothing steals it, to make sure her voice is taken care of... and above all, for the first time in my entire life, I had to make sure she was safe and out of harms' way. For the first time in my life, I wanted to cherish something other than what I've accomplished, and instead, someone who has touched the points in my life that are an enormous empty void. I could be her guardian angel for now, and as long as I'm restrained, forever. I assured myself I could keep watch from behind and stay out of her sight. Little did I know, all of that was going to change in a matter of months.

It was the beginning of that summer that her father died. After acting as her guardian angel for the past few months, ensuring that she received all of the proper things to resume her progress in building a career for herself in high school. Everything crashed down one day, when I noticed she hadn't come to a rehearsal for the summer musical she was about to star in. I panicked because it wasn't like her to miss anything. She hadn't been acting sick before, and her friends weren't there either. Meghan Giry came in to rehearsal with a bleak expression, which was odd for someone like her annoying type, the opposite of her mother, another sponsor to the program.

Apparently, Christine's father had been suffering under pancreatic cancer and when he was diagnosed, he had been in the final stages. Pancreatic cancer meant certain death, no cure, and no way to go around it. She must be mortified... Not just that but that was her only living parent. She told the girls when the funeral was to give condolences, and to weep with her. They evidently all knew Christine's father because he was a loved substitute teacher at their high school. I didn't think I should invite myself in, and I didn't, I've been through enough funerals, and I couldn't put myself up to seeing Christine cry, though I was her guardian angel. Christine, if the world was different, your head could be on my shoulder...

I watched her come to her empty house that night, ghostly pallid and she moved slowly as if the world could stop moving. She leaned her head against the shoulder of her aunt, Ms. Valerious . I couldn't stand looking at Christine for she was such a broken mess, her face red from crying, and she was holding her chest as if she let it go, she might fall to pieces and fall to the ground, face first. I wanted to hold her in her arms and let her cry instead of mercilessly showing her the house where it all happened. Poor Christine looked dead, as pale as a vampire. I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, but as strong as the urge said I should do so, I very well knew I couldn't. She wasn't going to be okay, for she lost someone very dear to her... I wanted to do something to make it go away as I watched her from afar. It hurt me almost as much as it harmed her. I could see the pain etched in her eyes, the suffering of the fact that you're now alone in the world...

I could offer her the world and more, whatever she desired, and yet I would never hold the ability to bring the dead and gone back to life. Actually, I'm not quite sure I'd want to, considering the dead would be the ones to have held grudges in order to make my life a living hell. I turned away from the sight as she locked herself into her room, and curled into a tiny ball in the middle of her bed and began to cry, her entire frame shaking when she was finished, her face red and eyes swollen, but she wore no expression in her eyes... She looked quite dead. Christine would never be the same again.

She went to live with her aunt who happened to fall ill not too long after then. She was already being considered into the foster care system. I really couldn't tell what she thought of this... From the look of it, I don't think the girl thought about anything. When she answered questions for the people about herself, she didn't seem to go into much detail. A lot of it was vague answers, robotic remarks, along with the upright proper manners that she always had. She questioned who she was going with, and that was the only other thing she mentioned. They told her repeatedly that her aunt couldn't take care of her any longer, and also about what therapy could help with.

Another month passed and Christine attended therapy regularly in order to talk about her mind and what she thinks of to get her mind off of her parent's death. She didn't answer and stared at the therapist blankly, and from what I could tell by the the security tapes, she looked another shade paler as the weeks pass, and there's nothing they could do but give her medications to get her out of her depression.

And the passing of another month, Christine was wiped completely away from the general area. I panicked. She could have killed herself, though I knew she would have never killed herself because she's too frightened... She could have tried. I searched her records repeatedly, and none of it had death of any sort... just that she moved to a home in another area with another family... that quickly. I decided that I couldn't interfere much longer, and I had to wait... and wait patiently—something I was never brilliant at especially when it came to matters of my Christine.

My deep worry made me feel like her parent of some sort, keeping close watch of her when the other guardians couldn't even look her straight in the eye because they didn't know what to say. Her avenging angel at times when something unjust occurred in her situation, and I had to rightly fix it. They wanted to send her to a group home for other children like her... I would have none of that. I knew what it felt like to be casted out and into something even worse. I kept arranging so she could go to more willing foster families... even if it meant sending her away where I could no longer see my darling again.

She came back not but a few years later and Christine turned sixteen. It was her birthday, but it seemed she never received any presents of any sort except for a card from her friend Meg that lived in her home state. I decided once more to intercede, and make sure she was safe. I bought a cell phone and arranged for it to have all information and bills to be sent to me so I could take care of them. I planted it in the room that she was staying in with another twit whose name was Catherine. She was six years younger than Christine, and I could see the unmistakable horror of sharing a room with a little girl in Christine's eyes. She came into her room after every day during school and cried... and cried... until she found the cell phone. You cannot possibly imagine my fascination when her eyes lit up and began to prod into the newfound piece of technology and leisure that everyone except for herself has been able to keep hold of until now. It was I that made her happy in this time of grief... I don't think as long as I lived that I would forget the change in her expression from absolutely dead to filled with life in that split second.

She thought she was stealing it from someone else in the home when she hid it into her bags as she packed away to move onto another home. She used it to call her social worker, Antoinette Giry to take her away, after moaning several complaints.

The next home she moved to had six children this time, and two of them were close to her age, and in almost the same situation as her. She seemed happier there, but not quite... There would always be a fault in where she would go, it didn't matter. Until Christine grows up and goes off to live on her own based off of welfare and whatever pitiful career she chooses to come up with, she might never have that delightful smile on her face, she might never sing with that clarity and hardly faultless voice of hers. When she is finished with the foster care system, she would disappear quickly out of the world and I might never even see her again. I might never have the ability to protect her without scaring the minimal life out of her and her fragility. Her guardian angel would be no more.

I could have nothing of the sort. I swore to myself to protect this angel from the true horrors of the world, and that is what I shall do. I wouldn't let her be crushed and broken down by the pressure, I would give to her life and the ability to do so much more. I couldn't keep on standby any longer and watch her die... I've never had such feelings in my entire life because never except perhaps once in my life had I ever had such a guardian angel that protected me from the problematic societies in this world. It's to be believed that one might never show love and adoration if one was never loved for themselves. This... protectiveness of Christine wasn't just the selfish desire to hear her voice again... I couldn't deny it any longer. When I first saw her open her mouth and sing... I fell in love with the angel's voice. Now... as I witness the angel being crushed in the cruel hand of God's creation, it's to be decided that I love the angel as well... quite possibly more than the voice was ever worth.