Disclaimer: Recap, I don't own Jareth or Erik or any of it. All I have is a kitty furball…you may purchase it on ebay if you really want it. It is 20,000 US dollars…or 50,000 doll hairs! Anyways, don't sue me. I've got nothing.
Chapter Two: An Empty Stage
The night had not been fruitful for anything other than the stray tears that would fall despite his protest. The countenance of rage stemmed through his veins but there was no winded scream, no fisted fingertips, and no hanging bodies gathered around the upper levels of the Grand Opera house. There was only disturbing silence…the sound of unmitigated isolation.
His returning reign had broke terror to an unsuspecting crowd, gathering back to their superstitions that he was far more than just a man. All the doubts that Christine had brought were downcast by his pre-emptive return. The Opera House was closed in a fort night, and the foolish Neanderthals that called themselves owners had fled back to the business that they belonged…slick and disgusting drudging of oil. It was obvious that the only ones that had truly had any place in the Opera House had gone down with the sinking ship. Mademoiselle Meg Giri's last performance had been within the Opera house…but even she was hardly together without the misguided innocent known as Christine.
In his nightly assault of the upper halls, he heard not even a breath's whisper. No one had set foot within the closed doors and the shattered pieces of chandelier still decorated the front rows of the audience's seating. His footwear did not betray his steps, though there was no one to betray it to, and he stepped silently from his prison that hosted the murky thoughts of his mind. Instead he had visions of the same horrors that braced his youth, stole his adulthood, and banished his dreams.
He stood himself upon the stage…reminiscing of the moment when the false flames rose high against Christine's flesh. When seduction had reached its peak and he had gathered her to her…hoping to seduce all childish fancy she might feel for Raoul with his persistent passion. The seats had been packed with high society snobbery and insolence at that time but now not even a true apparition would wish to flock to its confines. It was an empty shell of its former glory…an empty and bitter shell but it was his. The flourish of his cloak sounded and he allowed his brow to knit in consternation.
"Those insolent fools thought that legality would stop my claim. That their income would outweigh my word…I who had dwelled there for longer than they had sights for Opera….a large retainer for their efforts…instead their great wealth smashed and embedded it's crystal shards in each seat…and yet," he brought his eyes to scour out the darkness, the shadows, and the emptiness of the large stage room. "And yet…they do not bask in isolation…they are free from their bonds of slavery; but what of moi? Oh, not I. Not I, great Monsieur! I am indebted to a scrap of clothing, and a cave that will surely hide my from the world…but if only…If only a wish could be granted…Then surely my bonds would be broken…and Christine…Christine would wish my guidance, my protection, ….and my love. Wishes are for fools…and yet I stand here, speaking to an empty room….and condemn the last scrap of hope that might exist for me. I wish…I wish to belong to someone, to something greater than an empty and broken-down establishment. I wish to belong…" And with that outcry, he had fallen to his knees in anguish, one hand grasping onto the porcelain shield that covered his façade.
I wish to belong to someone.
And in that giant room, with vaulted ceilings ripped asunder and destroyed seating, kneeled a man brought down by his grief and forced to his knees to accept that not even the rats would be able or willing to accept his pleas of companionship.
No one, not a soul in Paris would hear out his cry…