Author's notes: I'm stuck at home with a fever, so I have loads of time… but alas, my larynx doesn't allow me to speak much, let alone sing, so I'm compensating it with writing.
Attention! Flash forward to the Down Once More sequence in this intermezzo! Changing POV! CHANGING POV ON POPULAR DEMANDS! (panting) many thanks for paying attention… oh, and REVIEW! I was in a very creative mood while writing this, so I need to know what you think of my characterization!
Mini Nicka – heh, I'm your typical EC phan, so I think you can guess… but we'll see. Thanks and read on.
Daisy Deertree – if it's blah blah blah, why do you like it? And if you like it, why is it blah blah blah? (is confused) How's this chapter? Better?
Phan – heh, thanks. Read on!
lady kathrin – don't worry, here's more! Thanks and read on!
light barrer – To quote Raoul: "And somehow, the harder she tried to make me happy, the more quietly certain I became that she had loved Erik far more than she ever loved me."
"I had held her in trust for seventeen years until death chose to reunite her with the one to whom she truly belonged."
"(talking to Erik in his thoughts)…I, who shared so unwillingly in your tragedy, now find myself, by some ironic twist of fate, left alone to glory in your triumph."
EriksSylvia – Yay, success! That was my intention, you know – when it feels like listening to the song or seeing the movie, you know it's good.
longblacksatinlace – it's a wonderful song. Here you go, many thanks and read on!
Enrinye – Now there's something very wrong here if you can't find any reason to criticize me, Z. Are you sure you're not sick:-) Or am I really such a good writer? "Dear servant"? Hmm…. Well, I changed my plans for this phic a bit, read it and tell me what you think. P.S. I hope I'll be able to get to that singing teacher soon – I hate colds!
EriksIngenue – Success! Thanks and read on:-)
starnat – (whisper) I don't have the book either, since I'm also European and they don't sell it where I live, but to help a fellow phan, I suggest you go to phantomoftheopera. com and search "the lair" for "susan kay"... you´ll find what you´re looking for, trust me.
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Intermezzo I: Hades
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In my long life, there have been few moments when I didn't know what to do or what to think. There have been even few moments of helplessness, especially after I realized that it wasn't an overstatement to say that I can do anything, if I really want to.
Indeed, life had prepared me for many things: shocks beyond imagination, to anticipate the unthinkable, to be always on my guard. This, however, I would have never in a million years predicted.
Perhaps it was due to the fact my sanity was questionable tonight that my mind didn't see all the logical outcomes and possibilities. But no. This wasn't logical. The simple idea that this would happen was surely ridiculous, even to a completely sane and normal person.
Fairytales don't come true, I have learned that the moment I realized I was on my own. True, I knew few fairytales back then, but now that I knew countless stories, I'm quite certain that there is no miracle, no salvation. Only darkness… at least for me.
Since birth, I was different from the world around me. On a mental level, certainly, but alas, on the physical as well. While most of the people who knew me thought I was a genius in any and every sense of the word, few truly understood why. Did they really think that if I was like them, so normal and acceptable by the outside world, that I would spend my life studying, locked in my laboratory or sitting behind my organ or playing my violin?
I was a "genius" because I had to be – there was nothing else for me to fill the emptiness of the days. The company of others was not desirable, not anymore. I was happy in my solitude, surrounded by knowledge and music. Those two never questioned me, never denied or defied me. They filled my days, my nights, kept me content.
When I was surrounded by things I loved, I didn't need to think about what would happen if I would ever dare venture into the world of daylight again. I didn't think about the horrified stares I would be receiving, I didn't need to think of the times I needed to prostitute my talents as a magician, about the shouts of crowds demanding that I reveal my face, so they could "hear the Devil sing". Yes, my mother was right to say she hated my devil's face and my angel's voice.
An angel… the very word mocked me. Despite the horror of what lay underneath the mask – my only shield from the cruel world – many have called me that. Angel of Doom, Angel of Death, Angel of Music… it seemed that whatever art I mastered, I became its angel instantly.
But the last one was what brought me to this situation. Never in my life have I acted this rashly. Well, not since I learned to live with my face, anyway. There were moments when rage took over, "possession", I remembered, some called it, moments that I couldn't remember very clearly, except for a sudden redness surrounding me. Red Death! What a suiting description it became! And yet it wasn't a costume – it was myself. My true self.
When did this begin, I wonder? Was it the moment I started this horrible game of lies and deception? Or was it the moment I learned that my intentions have changed?
For years, ever since the fatal moment I heard an angel's song, I had been deceiving a poor child. But I have also been deceiving myself. I led myself to believe in something that never existed, in a dream I have created for her… and, subconsciously, for myself as well.
It was supposed to be an ordinary day in the life of the Opera Ghost, just an ordinary day. Madame Giry came on time to receive further instruction from me and I had just left the disaster of a rehearsal, when I heard a voice echoing through the silence.
It was coming from the chapel.
Few people prayed here, even fewer during the rehearsals. I had to see for myself who this brave little soul was. And I now realize that when I crept into the chapel that night, I have sealed my fate. It was as if I had walked into a dungeon and the door had been sealed behind me. And there was no way out.
What I saw there that night could never be put into words, even though I can say without shame that I am able to work with speech just as well as with music. Understandable, I suppose. My voice has always been and will always be my only beauty, a weapon as deadly as my Punjab lasso, equally subtle. And while I was against slavery and domination of free will in general, I have found very soon that hypnotizing others with the mere sound of my voice was very useful. It was frightening, in a way.
To satisfy my own need for a pleasant memory, I can only say that I have seen an angel there. She could have been six at the time, but Christine Daaé, no matter how sad she can sometimes be, is always the only angel that has walked this earth… the only creature that has ever breached my defenses without trying and touched a part of me I had hoped I had torn out of my soul.
That night, she called to her father, her dead father, hoping to receive an answer, to finally meet her Angel of Music. I had my own experiences with God's "mercy" – my face being the best example – so I knew there was no one to hear her prayers… or, at least, no one who would answer them. And this child would break easily, because I could sense in her voice that she was already shattered in spirit. She wasn't used to fear and hopelessness.
As I wish to mend all broken things, I wished to mend this child's soul. And with a voice like she had – with perfect pitch, no flaw that I could see – I could help her. I knew how to guide voices. I was helping my mother sing when I was four. The only problem was the obvious fact that a chit of the ballet, no matter how broken, wouldn't accept the aid of the infamous O.G. And even if she would, my trust had just begun to build up. I didn't want to show my secrets to a stranger… even a strange angel.
So I had to become an angel myself.
How criminally easy it was to rekindle her hope! The moment she smiled at the sound of my song was the moment I smiled as well… in God knows how long. I rarely felt the need to smile – there was hardly ever reason for one such as me to smile. As I had been once told by that sadistic b…beast (I should not like to swear, even only in thought, while in an angel's presence), the khanum told me that "my face is sufficiently ugly without being twisted like that".
The daily lessons became more of a drug than morphine or opium could ever be. She crushed my daily routine and I worshipped her for that – now, I had a purpose to wake up in the morning, if I actually slept. Strange, since insomnia was one of the things that became a part of my life that I actually slept during the night sometimes.
Before, I never understood why the foolish people slept during the most beautiful time of the day. Now that there was one highlight in my existence and all else was dark and unappealing, I had to sleep… for in my dreams, I could see and hear the angel that had unknowingly saved me.
It became an unhealthy obsession, I suppose, but I was unworldly in the sense that I never cared much for the customs of the outside world. I had my own laws, my own habits and those I had killed for petty things knew well that I wouldn't change them for anything.
But Christine knew nothing of such things, having no idea that her so-called "Angel" could easily pass for the Devil himself, should the creature I had dared call "Master" during moments of insanity need a substitute. Christine had no idea that the hands that produced the music she loved could so easily end lives.
For ten long years I have taken care of the little Miss Daaé, as if she were a flower that would need care to face the harshness of the world. Just as I have told her. And every word was true. I had never lied to Christine, except for the whole concept of being the Angel of Music… but I can't say I never lied to myself.
What man in their right mind wouldn't notice the change in my pupil's appearance? The cheeky child was turning into a beautiful woman… a swan that was growing up was no longer the ugly duckling, if she could ever have been called ugly. And day-by-day, I watched with agony as she smiled, laughed or simply sat in my presence, while oblivious to it, knowing I was there.
I watched her all the time, taking care to see if there were any would-be-suitors chasing her. But Christine remained dedicated and I was content… for the moment. Despite knowing that my love for her had long since become more than just the fatherly affection or the pride of a tutor that loved his talented pupil, I conjured up no illusions for myself. From the beginning, I have known I could never be a real man for her, holding her or simply being with her. I could only be her Angel – a surreal, ethereal presence that followed her wherever she went.
But inside, I was just a broken man.
Curse her, curse her a thousand times! What had she reduced me to? I was a broken man, just a broken man! I, who had conquered masses with simple tricks, who was the emperor of my own domain… and yet this child controlled my soul. And in her innocence, she didn't know what dangerous fire she was playing with.
In time, her curiosity grew. She longed to see me, to know that I was really there. It was obvious to her that this wasn't a mere dream. It had lasted too long to be a dream. And yet that is what it was… a beautiful dream, a soft silky blindfold around our eyes.
It was soon torn to shreds.
Why wasn't she simply content with seeing me, why did she have to prove curious, like a small child and snatch the mask, when I was hoping more than ever that she would accept me for who I was, with or without it?
After that, it could never be the same. Add the sickeningly young and handsome Vicomte de Chagny to the mix and you have a disaster ready!
I never meant to frighten her with Bouquet's death. I never meant to scare her at the Masquerade. I never meant to hypnotize her at her father's grave. All I ever wanted was her to accept me and perhaps, just perhaps, cease to fear me, as I am sure she did.
And tonight, after the premiere of Don Juan, there was really no turning back.
It was time to make a choice – a legal, permanent choice. Tonight, I was prepared to use everything at my disposal to win this battle. I had no chance in a fair fight, so I would fight the only way I knew… to the death. And should this be the day of my death, then the man who would murder me should know that he was doing me a favor. If Christine wouldn't stab me with her words and let me bleed to death, I would be content.
There were few times in my life when I was confused. I understood things quickly. Except for the things I didn't want to understand. Like mirrors. But later, ironically, they became the key to my success. And there were mirrors all around my domain – covered, but they were there. The only uncovered ones were in a long-forgotten hexagonal room of which I have thought much tonight. Oh, how much I wanted to introduce Raoul de Chagny to that room!
But for all my cunning, I could never have seen this coming. Clad in the wedding dress which I had prepared for her long ago, the angel that was the only light in my darkness came to me, ignoring her fiancé, the rope in my hands, the mob that was chanting in the distance… and kissed me.
You could say that it was nothing unusual – a kiss. After all, is there a person who hasn't been kissed by their mother, father, sibling or mate? Well, to astonish you, dear friends, there is one such person in this wretched world… and that person, if he could be called that, was in the arms of an angel right now.
What did the kiss mean? It was to save the Vicomte… yes, that must be it. It couldn't be because she felt something for me. Except pity. She pitied me. Pity came too late. But… I was more than thankful for the gesture.
I was sobbing, I knew it, even as she looked at me with her wide eyes, a strange flicker passing though them. She didn't pull away from my touch. She didn't look away in disgust. She was smiling shyly, hopefully… for me.
Through the sobs, I managed to smile at her, her, who had given me more than she could possibly ever know. And I would remember this very moment until death would finally claim its angel.
How I summoned the strength to do it, I have no idea. But it had to be done. Yet I knew I would regret the words I said very soon. But I loved Christine more than any creature on this planet ever would and wanted only the best for her. Even if it meant that I would never see her again.
Unwilling as I was to do so, I pulled away from her grasp and looked away from her – if I would see her face again, I wouldn't be able to let go. Resigned, suddenly melancholic and broken, the words came out as a choked command.
"Take her! Forget me! Forget all of this!"
