We can burn it and leave, for we are the beautiful thieves…
"To beauty, wealth, and prosperity," Raoul spoke, raising his champagne glass and smiling widely. Everyone in attendance raised their glasses in response and drank to his toast.
All of Paris's finest were in attendance…celebrating the engagement of the Vicomte and his bride-to-be, Christine. Her face glowed, and she brought her lips softly to his. Raising her glass to him, she spoke softly: "to us."
"To us, and to our wonderful future together," he responded, touching their glasses together and kissing her lightly again.
He turned back to the crowd of people whose eyes were placed expectantly on him. "This night belongs to us," he said, extending his arms outward in a giving gesture. "Take it and enjoy it, my friends…be without inhibition. For tonight, let Paris turn a blind eye to we swift and spolit strangers" he spoke grandly, his smile lighting up the room.
Beautiful music played softly in the background, and all their surroundings were adorned in gold. Everyone danced merrily, dressed in their finest garments and jewels, everyone showing off their wealth and their status. This group was certainly the crème de la crème, all here to celebrate a life of affluence and beauty with Christine and Raoul.
Raoul pulled Christine close into his arms, wanting to feel his fiancé as close to him as possible. He nuzzled his head lovingly in her hair, inhaling her scent. "Tonight is ours, my love, and it has only just begun." They smiled widely at each other, knowing that tonight reflected what the rest of their lives together would look like: parties and gatherings with Paris's finest, champagne with royalty, and an abundance of nothing less than beauty and light.
As the night wore on and the alcohol continued flowing, the guests celebrated as only aristocrats could. It became apparent that men were getting more lustful, and women more willing. Many couples would sneak off giggling, only to return a half an hour later flushed and almost disoriented. Husbands went off with women who were not their wives, and wives were whisked away by silver-tongued suitors. Also sneaking off were those few who were fortunate enough to get their hands on an opium supply and willing to share.
Despite the various blatant sexual and drug transactions, nobody batted an eyelash, and everyone continued dancing, enraptured by the party and their own minds. Nobody bothered to bat an eyelash, for they all knew there was no danger here. Everyone knew that the elite were all exempt from the mundane laws and fate that governed the rest of the population. Everyone knew that they were immortal and untouchable.
In the middle of the festivities, a woman began to feel faint and collapses on the floor among the other dancers. They continued dancing absentmindedly around her form, laughing merrily. "Oh, she's such a card," one lady laughed, "feigning ill like that." She continued turning round and round, laughing along with everyone else staring at the collapsed body on the floor, whose eyes had turned vacant and whose breathing had ceased.
In the background of the party, a masked shadow moved deftly, casually and disdainfully observing the scene being played out in front of him. The mortality of one of their own is handed to them on a silver platter, yet no one cares to notice. They are all too blinded by their own egos.
"You are all running towards death," the shadow spoke silently to himself. "I have met him times before, and he adores you just as he adores the rest of the population." A wicked smile came to his lips. "It shall only be a matter of time before your own humanity catches up with you."
"Isn't this party wonderful, my love?" Raoul asked Christine, too absorbed in her to notice how his celebration was silently turning sour and strangely mortal. Christine glanced around nervously, unable to see the wonder which her fiancé was referring to. "Why so troubled, my love?" He planted a chaste kiss on her soft lips. She smiled up at him, ignoring her instinct and saying nothing. Clearly people were having a good time, and she didn't want to ruin her own engagement party, so she chose to remain silent.
In a sudden moment, the music was stopped in mid-verse, and the phantom removed himself from the shadows. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby tray, and he made his presence known to the party's attendants. "Good evening, my fine people," he spoke eloquently, raising his glass. Everyone started in bewilderment, waiting for his next move. "What a splendid party this is, I must say, Monsieur Vicomte," he said, tipping his glass towards Raoul. Raoul stood dumbfounded, unable to contemplate the fact that his sworn enemy stood before him. "And your bride," he motioned to Christine, "is as exquisitely beautiful as ever." With his free hand, he brought her hand to his lips, lightly grazing them across her delicate fingers. Broken from his trance, Raoul's hand shot out to take his fiancé's back in his own.
"To what do we owe this delightful pleasure, Monsieur?" Raoul spoke, trying to be cordial, yet unable to keep the venom out of his voice.
"I simply wished to congratulate you two on this marvelous occasion." He spread his arms nonthreateningly, smiling widely. "Tis certainly an occasion to be celebrated."
"Yes, it certainly is. We appreciate your thanks, Monsieur. Now if you don't mind…" Raoul's voice matched his scathing, ice cold eyes.
"I am certain you will take great care of my Christine," Erik interrupted, and Raoul stepped up to him threateningly, closing the distance between the two of them.
"It would be wise of you to leave," he warned venomously. Christine stood behind him, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.
Erik's face broke into a mirthless smile. "You are one to speak of wisdom, good sir, when it is you who stands there with my supposed-to-be wife, knowing that I am a very jealous man…"
In one swift move, Raoul's possessiveness took over, and he drew the dagger from his waist, plunging it deep into Erik's stomach. "You stay away from my wife," he growled, extracting the knife and letting Erik's body hit the floor. Christine gasped and covered her mouth, shocked at her lover's actions. He moved back toward her, taking her into his arms and lightly stroking her hair. "We shan't need to worry about him any longer."
"What have you done, Raoul?" Christine pulled back from him, looking shocked and disapprovingly into his eyes. She dropped to her knees in front of Erik's body and lightly held his wrist between her fingers before looking up at her lover. "He's dead," she spoke, tears forming in her eyes. Raoul squatted beside her, lightly gripping her shoulders and brining her body to his own.
"Sh…it's okay, Christine. It's okay…it's over." She silently wept into her lover's chest, still unable to believe what just happened. "Come, let's get you home," he said, rising up and pulling her upright with him. He put a comforting arm around her as he led her out the front doors of the opera house. The rest of the crowd dispersed, leaving the two bodies lying silently and untouched on the floor. They all stumbled their separate ways, never to speak of this night or its events ever again.
Next up is "End Transmission." It's kind of darkly romantic, in a sense. Well, I think it is. You'll have to see for yourselves…