Disclaimer: Leroux owns the original story, Kay owns Phantom, and ALW owns the music and musical.
She's so beautiful.
Her alabaster skin glowed in the darkness; the slight sheen of perspiration captured what little light was in the bedroom. She was luminescent. Her wayward curls spilled all over to Erik's side of the bed. He didn't care in the least. He inhaled deeply to smell the sweet floral scent emitting from her warm body. He gently trailed a finger down from her cheek to her swanlike neck. She shivered lightly from the contact and curled closer to him. He shifted away from her reach, acting like the child that used to retreat from sunlight.
"Christine," he sang her name like a song.
She made no indication that she heard him, but her lips parted slightly as to tickle Erik's exposed face with her breath. He closed his eyes from the sensation. With a content sigh he rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes to see the darkness of his ceiling.
"Christine… you're so beautiful. Mon ange, how could you let a monster like Erik touch you. You're so perfect. My Christine," he rolled back over to play with her curls, "Will you be that? My Christine? Will you finally belong to your Erik? He will cherish you everyday, he will give you a good life. Yes... he will give you everything you've ever wanted," his eyes glazed over in thought.
"A nice, secluded house close to the Opera, with windows and a garden. You can plant roses and other flowers. In the mornings we can take walks, then I'll read to you, and at night we'll sing. We can… we can get married. A priest… yes, we'll have a priest, one that doesn't mind your Erik's face. You'll make friends with the neighbors, we'll have them over for tea. They won't ask about your Erik's face… because they're nice people and they won't care. I can… take you out for dinner some nights. Take you out to balls… and the people, they'll accept me. Everyone will compliment you on having such a handsome husband. Everything would be perfect," Erik's breathing was becoming erratic. With each new thought the dream seemed further away; fleeting from Erik's reach.
A sleeping Christine was starting to stir at the movements beside her. Her face scrunched up and she turned away from the sounds Erik was making.
"Christine… I can't- I can't think, Christine. Everything's starting to hurt," he clenched his head in pain.
He shot out of bed swiftly, silently and grabbed his black cloak off of the chair beside him. He entered the drawing room and closed the door quickly behind him. He fell down in the chair closest to the door, his body exhausted and mind tired. A glint brought his attention to the mask on the floor.
The mask.
Erik had never felt more humiliated and hurt in his life. He picked up the mask from the floor, with a sob, and clutched it to his chest. What was I thinking. That a horrid monster could live among the living with his beautiful angel? Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. A devil perusing in a man's skin, playing husband, acting normal. Stupid stupid stupid. How could Christine want this? To be chained underground, spending the rest of her days with an ugly beast.
He had to get out of here. He had to leave. The longer he stayed the more his stomach churned. He couldn't condemn Christine to a life of darkness. She deserves to live, to live in the warmth of the light. And he couldn't give that to her, nor could he sleep with that fact.
A week later there was a notice in the newspaper.
Erik is dead.
After that night with Christine, he was forced onto the streets. The Opera Populaire was nothing but a painful origin of memories and treachery and Erik couldn't stand living in a place that held memories of Christine at every corner.
It was a month before Nadir Khan had found him. When he say the notice in the newspaper; he mourned. However, when he heard reports from people in the town of music coming from the abandoned church, he knew that Erik was alive. They described the music as ethereal sounds coming from the dead of night; a trademark for his friend it seemed. Erik was always a troubled soul, always too dangerous, passionate, and unstable. And because of that, Nadir was horribly worried for him.
But Nadir was shocked with what he saw. He found Erik laying in the pews underneath his black cloak, looking nothing more but a shadow hiding from the window light. He gently peeled the cloak off from his still figure, fearing him to be dead or hurt. This was quickly proven untrue, however, when Nadir found himself in a Punjab Lasso in a matter of seconds.
"Erik! Erik! Calm down!" Nadir flailed in Erik's grasp, trying to make him see reason. The lasso loosened but didn't completely relax.
"Nadir?" Erik's deep voice questioned.
"Yes," the lasso didn't come off however. It just stayed put around Nadir's sore neck.
"Will you take this blasted thing off of me?" Nadir exclaimed. Erik reluctantly complied.
"Why are you here?" Nadir turned around and finally got a look at Erik's face. It was still horrible; ghastly as ever. There was still no nose, and the skull was still exposed but that wasn't what Nadir was shocked at seeing. On his cheeks there were red gashes scabbed over. It looked as though he was clawed. Erik quickly realized he was without his mask and turned away harshly to locate the porcelain mask.
Erik wretched face kept him anyway from any form of happiness. It earned a mother's fear and loathing, denied him from living a normal life, and separated him from his Christine. He just wanted it gone; he just wanted to be handsome for Christine, for his mother, for everyone. They couldn't bear to look at it and Erik couldn't either. He clawed at his deformed face for hours, hoping to rip it off like a mask and reveal a smooth surface, a sharp nose, normal shaped lips, and skin that wasn't tinted with yellow; a face worthy of Christine.
"Leave," Erik's words were chilling and emotionless. It made the hair on Nadir's arms rise.
"Erik, what happened to you," Nadir pushed.
"Nothing of your concern, now leave." Erik finally donned his mask and stood to his full height. The immaculate porcelain gleamed in the light piercing through the church windows. His body was covered in his black cloak and his mouth was in a tight line. For the first time since Persia, Nadir Khan felt scared.
"I saw the notice in the paper," Nadir stood his ground. Erik gave no reply, except for a flash in his eyes.
"Erik, tell me what's going on."
"I shall tell you no such thing, you pesky knave," Erik growled.
Nadir sighed. He forgot that talking to Erik was like talking to a brick wall. He changed his tactic, "I've recently accepted a new job. At an opera house."
This was a small white lie. Nadir in fact, bought the Opera House. It was in dire need of restoration and new management, so it was sold for cheap. Once he saw it, he immediately thought that it was a perfect project for Erik.
Erik's eyes flashed, "What kind of job could you possibly have? You know nothing of the arts."
"Management, actually. Though I do admit to lacking in the arts department. I was perhaps wondering if you might like to assist me?"
Erik gave a heavy sigh, as if he was giving an insistent child a cookie.
"Fine, but only because I know that you would run that place to the ground otherwise. Which opera house would be foolish enough to hire you anyways?" Erik asked while being led out of the church.
"It's called the Opéra Comique, now, let's get you cleaned up. No offense my friend, but you smell like death."
It was always the same dream. One without any images or light, but of only music. Of her sweet gentle voice playing in his ear. She was singing one of his unwritten melodies. Her light soprano voice floated through the heavens and she soared higher and higher with each note. Erik could feel his heart follow her, his spirits following her wherever she may go. Christine, you've come back. He would reach out for her, trying to grasp the girl with the golden voice and each time he would feel the warmth leaving his body.
He had to say it; he had to say it one more time or else his chest would burst.
"Christine, I love you"
Erik felt the faintest of warmth touch his ruined face. A kiss.
He woke up in a cold sweat, with his hand clenching the fabric of his sheets, yearning to feel the soft caress of her warm would lie in his bed for hours; remembering the intimacy of her gaze, the feel of her velvet skin against his callused fingers, her deep kisses that would make his heart bleed, and the way her body moved with his. The musical way they moved, spurred on by passion and instinct. Erik's body would tingle with the warmth of the ghostlike memory.
He began to not be able to distinguish the threshold of reality from the strength of his dreams and his mind was beginning to burn. At night, the music in his head would be pure and unearthly, but in the light of day when he tries to pull the music out of his dreams, they would fall flat. The notes would blur into nothing more but smoke and noise and the words would be meaningless. The days started to fade into weeks and weeks faded into months and months turned to years. 9 years. 9 years of aches and pains; of living a mere facade. Of loneliness cloaked around Erik's tortured mind. His spirit was dead, his music, though still profound, was emotionless. Erik spent the days by his piano composing and writing until the night when his frustration builds up to unbearable heights .
Tonight, however, there was a gala; the opening night for La Bohème. The show itself was lackluster. It had ran smoothly, the dancing was superb, and the orchestra was decent. Nothing monumental or exciting and Erik almost wished there was a disaster so he could feel something. Anger, at the very least.
Erik watched as the attendants trickled out of the theater and into the ballroom from his seat in Box 5. He was about to leave when he saw a figure step on stage. He stopped breathing once he saw the face that was burned into his soul.
Christine
She walked around stage, gazing nostalgically at the set design. It was like seeing a ghost. Her face was ever so sweet, but her eyes didn't hold that familiar childish gleam. She looked tired, almost. This was no girl that Erik had seen 9 years ago. This was a woman. Erik could feel his heart beating out of his chest and the blood start to rush to his head. Before, he complained about feeling nothing and now it seemed that he felt everything at once. He watched tentative, not quite believing if he was hallucinating.
She walked to the center of the stage and basked in the lights. Her curls gleamed and bounced the light back into the pitch black audience. She looked like she belonged. Christine took a breath and began to sing.
Think of me
Think of me fondly
She was singing the aria to Hannibal. It was the first aria she ever performed as Prima Donna. The song they worked months to perfect.
Her voice. Dear god her voice. It was weak and too airy. Erik could tell that she was singing in her head voice instead of her chest voice. Her posture was lazy and slouchy, making the sound even more weak. But it was so beautiful. The tone was still worlds above anything he has ever heard before, the pitch was still crystal clear, and he felt his spirit soar. If the floor opened up and swallowed him, he wouldn't mind or, frankly, even notice.
He felt like all of the oxygen had left his lungs and his knees were so incredibly weak. He lurched forward in his seat, falling to the cold floor. Uncontrollable sob after sob ripped through his throat. It seemed that he couldn't find enough air to breath in between the tears. His throat burned with each sob and gasp for air. He tried to muffle his sobs by biting onto his hand; not wanting to alert Christine of his presence. She continued singing, right up until the cadenza. He struggled to peer over the railing to look at her. She had a flush on her cheeks and a dazzling smile that made Erik tremble with longing. She straightened her posture, gained confidence, and sang the cadenza perfectly. The sound was so incredibly clear and vibrant and when she hit the last note… Erik knew he couldn't stay away any longer. He had to have her.
He picked himself up off of the floor and onto wobbly knees. He fixed the orientation of his mask and his attire, wiped off the tears, and cleared his aching throat. He was barely touching the doorknob to his private box when he heard him. That fool was here.
"Christine, sweetie, we should be going. Philippe's going to wonder where we are," Raoul gently said.
"Mama, was that you singing? It was beautiful," a small clear voice exclaimed.
A son. She had a son. She was married to the ever so handsome Raoul and had a perfect child. She had moved on. The more Erik thought, the more idiotic he felt. It was stupid to think that Christine could've waited for him. For all these years Erik tricked himself into believing she cared for him; never realizing that it would be foolish to care for a ghost.
Christine, oh my dear Christine. You've betrayed me. You treacherous girl, you tricked me into thinking you cared. You tricked your poor naïve Erik into believing that he could be cared for. Well never again, you little viper. Let it be war on you and your family.
Erik was filled with a newfound darkness that he hadn't felt in ages. Soon, he will get his revenge. Soon he will break away from the spell that Christine had on him. With that he vanished into the night, writing music that would burn any innocent soul.
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that read, reviewed, and favorited the first chapter. You guys are the best. Please continue to read and review; it makes my day.