What Doesn't Kill You…
MissCyraf
11
"What a Fool…"
What am I doing? The thought had been echoing through his head the whole evening. He had removed any shadow of a doubt about his existence to the girl…But was it for the best? I am falling victim to my old ways, the ways of the Phantom. I am not that person anymore, but she needed to be silenced. Despite the perfectly viable rationalization, he felt slightly guilty, an emotion that he had been experiencing far too often as of late. Another feeling joined it though, something he had not felt before in another person. A corner of his lips turned upward, a secreted smile. Almost proud of the girl though…no one has ever demanded an explanation from the Phantom, they normally just run right from the beginning. She had at least stood her ground for a little while. How interesting.
Frigid air broke over his face as gusts carried in a cold front. He sat hunched over atop a winged gargoyle, one of the highest points on the roof of the Opera Populaire, where he could see the entirety of Paris. Beneath him lay his domain, his kingdom that he had ruled as Phantom with an iron fist, bending the hapless performers and their managers to his will. Though he was no longer the Phantom, the power was still comforting, reassuring. I have always needed power, control… Out there, though…Out there lies a world I can never even be a part of. What would I have if I try? Hate, fear, anger, that is all that would meet me. I would never know this power again…Power. Control. Is that what keeps me, the thirst for power? Or fear? Though the former was appealing, he knew it to be the latter. His fingers brushed up against deformed, sensitive skin. I never had any when I was out there, I was victim to all. They had power over me, it was deemed acceptable to beat me, cage me…treat me like I was not human at all. I hoped in the Opera Populaire to escape, to be accepted, but no one did. No one saw my potential, my abilities, only my face...Giry felt sorry for me, pitied me, she helped, she had kept my secret...Until she betrayed me, showing that ignorant fool the way into my home!
A hot spitting anger began to once again rise, he forced it back down, but continued to prod the emotional sore spot. Christine…Why couldn't she love me, accept me? Why did she have to look at me the way everyone else did, with horror? I loved her as no other could, I saw no flaws, she was perfect. My beam of sunlight to raise me out of hell. She was Aphrodite, Isis, Freyja. Beauty in its most pure form. The pinnacle of all that human life can be—beautiful in every way. A quote from "Twelfth Night" surfaced. "Most radiant, exquisite and unmatchable beauty…"I merely wanted to harness that beauty, keep it, control it. Why could I not keep it? All I wanted was to keep her, my beauty, my perfection…But once again, I was rejected, betrayed by human kind. She represented the best of the world, and even the best would not see me for all that I am. Perhaps I really am nothing. His mood continued to darken along with the evening sky, the sunlight fading in an array of reds, golds, and purples. Darkness. We are reunited once again...Look at me. Hiding in the dark, too afraid to even leave the Opera Populaire. What a fool I've become…
o o o o o
Swathed in lavender silk, lace, and pearls, Christine de Chagny sat, delicate gloved hands folded in her lap, staring, but not seeing, out the window at the French countryside. Her thoughts had been muddled recently, now that the excitement of her marriage had passed, her life seemed relatively dull compared to what it was at the Opera Populaire. Raoul had been true to his word, he had often taken her to the opera, and there she had felt the familiar thrill of the stage that had so inspired her in Paris. But then they would return to the villa and her depression would, like always, settle back in again. Although she would never let him know, she longed to be back on the stage, lifting her voice to the urgings of the audience and her Angel. She hadn't sung since leaving him, she found that she couldn't. My Angel…nothing more than a monster, a Phantom…It had been more painful than she had thought, leaving her Angel of Music. She had thought, at the time, that he stood between her and the life she craved. A life of comfort and happiness. A life of comfort was a life of happiness. Now that she was living it, though, surrounded by wealth and beauty, she realized that she still wasn't happy. He made me a star…I was never strong enough for it, but he believed in me, so I did it…She had known that she was not meant to be the diva that La Carlotta had been, or even a diva at all. But her Angel had wanted the best for her, and had given her everything so she could have the best. He gave me my voice…how I have wasted it here. My Angel, what has become of me? What has become of you?? Where are you now…No. It was the adult decision. I had to think of my future, and I will never be on the streets, I will never be without security and safety now. My Angel could not keep me safe, could not keep a roof above my head or food on the table. He could only give me my voice…She tried to squash the next thought that came to the top of her mind, but failed miserably. But he also gave me his love….The thought gave her chills, she had been so afraid, afraid of everything.
Her Angel had an intensity that had terrified her, at the end, she had felt like she would be entirely consumed by it. She had thought at the time it was another trap, another way she would be controlled and confined. Christine had been passive since the death of her father, her life had spiraled out of control the day he died. She had been moved to the Opera Populaire at only seven years old, frightened of everything, especially of what would become of her. She barely had hung on at the opera house, her talent was mediocre, her dancing plain, ungraceful. Madame Giry had done what she could with Christine, giving her special attention to keep her in the opera house. The woman had been a life-long friend of her fathers, and had come to care for Christine as a second daughter. Providing her with as safe a home as she could, she drilled Christine constantly and firmly to ensure she kept her place. Then her Angel had started singing in her head…glorious tunes that breathed into her a sense of wonder and inspiration that she had never before felt in her young life. Though friends with Meg, Christine felt out of place, picked on by the other ballet girls for her lack-luster skill at the dance. Her Angel seemed to understand, providing her with the same encompassing comfort that her father had once given her. She had loved him for that, never knowing the monster that he truly was. The monster that he is…My Angel. How could you? How could you be the same creature that preyed us? On me? She delicately furrowed her brow, her eyes glazed over, not seeing the sun push in and out of the clouds through the windows. He never harmed me…never. Tears brimmed her eyes as she continued to think on him, she had convinced herself, with Raoul's help and everyone else's fear, that he was the enemy, the menace. Now, seated completely alone in her husband's elegant library, that idea began to unravel. He just wanted me, he loved me…Loved me more than anything, even more than Raoul loves me. He must have been so alone…She felt a harsh pain of guilt, subtle jabs had been striking her since she had left him in his tunnels, alone and empty. What have I done? Angel…
She shook her head to dismiss the thought. She loved Raoul, she told herself, and knew that when it came down to a life with the Phantom of the Opera and the Vicomte de Chagny, the better choice was obvious. Raoul had offered her everything, the Phantom could offer nothing. I could not love him…I could not. His face…and how he lived! I—I could not do that, I could not stay in the darkness for the rest of my life. No, I have made the right decision. I have. Raoul loves me, I love Raoul. Doubt pricked at her, she ignored it. I was so afraid, so confused. And he lied to me, he said he was an angel. The Angel of Music that Father sent me. Father…Father, what should I do?
When she was younger, she had truly believed that he was the Angel that her father had sent, the angel her father had promised her. Father promised me…Father promised me…How could this happen? Growing up, she had always seen him as an extension of her father, one of the reasons she had obeyed so readily. And that voice…She had truly believed in his divinity, his voice had seemed not of this earth. When he had claimed to be the angel she had so hoped for, she had eagerly accepted it. And for the life she had, a mere chorus girl struggling to stay in the ballet, he had offered her what seemed greatest gift in all the world. He had given her what she needed to succeed in her life at the theater, and she had been exceedingly grateful.
The gratitude, though, didn't extend to the feelings he had begun to express. She had loved him, but as her father, her protector and guardian. Her Angel's behavior, though, had grown very strange once Raoul had noticed her. He was angry, she knew, and forbade her several times from seeing Raoul. The young lord was sweet to her, paying her attention the opposite sex never had before. He had bathed her in gifts, taken her out, said the sweetest and most charming things…The fact that she had known him as a child encouraged her to keep seeing him as well, he was comforting and reminded her of a happier time, when her father was still alive. When her Angel began to act irrational, lashing out needlessly she thought, at Raoul, she had become frightened, pulling away from him. And then he captured me…showed me what he really was…A Phantom. She shivered at the memory, recalling that she had never once been afraid, only enraptured. Entranced. Even clothed all in black, a white half-mask over his face, his presence was dominating. Used to being told what to do, of obeying his voice, she had accepted his hand, allowing him to lead her below. He had used that divine voice to keep her ensorcelled, for a while she had still thought him to be an angel. The next morning the fantasy had worn away, and she truly saw him, stripping him of the white mask. He was exposed, his face and his true self, she had realized the truth. He had raged at her then, terrifying her for the first time. His face…his horrifying face…She cringed, remembering. But she had realized as he crawled to her, as a man, not an angel, that he was more afraid than she was, afraid that she would flee him once seeing his face. Struck by uncomfortable compassion, she had handed his mask back to him, but had decided, at that very moment, that she must escape her Angel. He was a danger now, no longer divine, but mortal, human. He was not her father, nor had he ever been. He was right to fear my seeing his face, it was so horrible. A face of a monster.
He had tried to contact her after that as the Angel, but she had fled him each time, eventually taking to spending nights with other dancers to avoid him. He could not call to her in front of others generally, and he eventually, she had thought, gave up, forgetting her. Raoul had continued to court her, and strangely lonely without her Angel, she had accepted him, feeling that she once again needed a guardian and protector. She was aware of Raoul's flaws, he never believed what she said or took him seriously. When she had told him of her Angel, he hadn't believed her, laughing outright at her.
At the masquerade, though, she had realized that he had not forgotten her, and how sorely mistaken she was. Even worse, he officially announced his presence by showing himself, giving up on mere rumors, ominous "accidents", and notes to keep control. He had marched right down the Grand Staircase, radiant and terrifying as Red Death, a glorious but certain threat. He had spoken to her, and staring into his mortal, cloudy green eyes, she had thought for a moment that she had understood him, understood his love for her and everything he would give her if she only accepted him. And I wanted to. She remembered the flush of excitement that had passed through her, the need to be near him, seeing him as not a threat, not a monster, not an angel. A man, a real man that promised her everything with his eyes. But then he had seen the ring.
It was at that moment that their destiny had formed. "Your chains are still mine! You belong to me!!" She still could hear his rasping, enraged voice, so different from every other time he had spoken to her. He had ripped the necklace, her engagement ring, from her chest, frightening her more than ever before. She saw him as a real threat now, the anger in his eyes, the hate, the madness, made her realize she was in danger. He would not let her go, not ever.
Now thinking back on that moment, Christine sincerely wished that something else had happened, he had said anything else. If he had said then that he loved me, had not scared me so…She wouldn't allow herself to think it any further, knowing it would lead her to thoughts she could not admit to. Thoughts that would shame her, shame her marriage to Raoul.
It was that fear, that misunderstanding, that had sent her securely into Raoul's arms. She had conveniently forgotten the years of devotion the Angel had given her, the years of loyalty and worship, how he had trained her from a talent-less nothing to a star prima donna. I was so afraid, so confused, weak…I just wanted to be protected. Raoul seemed safer…The Angel was no longer my guardian, but a curse. She remembered being brought down the second time, this time dragged by a devil instead of led by an angel. His ravaged face, the pain stretched across it, the sorrow, she would never forget, it haunted her dreams. He had forced her to change into a wedding dress, slamming a flower crown onto her head. Madness sparkled in those cloudy green eyes, the part of his face that she had once trusted, before she realized what he truly was. He was beyond understanding at this point, blaming her resistance on his face. She was beyond understanding as well, poisoned into thinking he was a monster. His face and actions only supported the belief, he was completely insane with desperation and need to keep her. Had I but realized, had I but known...
"This haunted face holds no horror for me now…it's in your soul that the true distortion lies." She had said that to him, wounding him more deeply than anyone else ever could. His face was horrible, but it was the insanity in those eyes that frightened her most, what she had thought was a warped, monstrous soul behind them. She had not understood, she now knew. It was not distorted, merely tortured, suffering from more pain than any other. But she had not realized at that time, and her words had driven him to his breaking point. Raoul had come to save her then, though her Angel, she knew even then, would never harm her. It was Raoul's presence that had been the final straw. Raoul was everything that the Angel never was, his polar opposite. Raoul had been given everything in life, was loved and adored by all. And, he was handsome. The Angel must have hated him so, if only Raoul had not arrived! I still would have tried to flee from him, perhaps, but the Angel would not have tried to kill him, might have released me. ...He would have remembered, remembered compassion, understanding. And perhaps I would have to. It would have been so different…And I would not be here.
"Christine?" She blinked out of her thoughts, awoken by a familiar voice. Turning, she beamed at her husband, hoping that he wouldn't be able to read in her eyes the guilt that she felt, thinking of his rival. He wanted to pretend that the Opera Populaire had never existed, and always was irritated when she spoke of it.
"Raoul, darling," He knelt in front of where she was seated, taking her hands in one of his, touching her cheek lightly with the other. Smiling gently, he stared up at her. She couldn't help it, a blush crept over her face, and his eyes darkened slightly.
"You've been thinking of it again. Thinking of him," It wasn't a question, nor an accusation. He knows me too well, understands me too deeply…In a way that pleased her, but at the same time, she was never able to keep secrets from him. In a marriage, it was said, there should be no secrets. But Christine knew that was false. Some secrets are necessary…Her eyes fell from his harsh gaze. She had been thinking on her former tutor too often lately, and Raoul knew of it.
"I'm sorry Raoul, it was just a passing memory…" He shushed her quietly, touching the tip of his finger to her lips.
"Do not worry, dearest. Just remember. He loved control, not you. He loved possessing you because you represented everything he could not have. He did not know you as I do, he did not even know who you are." She nodded, having to agree. He is right. My Angel loved me for my voice and for my beauty, he knew nothing of my heart. He proved that by trying to force me to love him…She forced the thoughts. By the end, she had believed that, and he was terrifying in his passion for her. Things might be different now, but I still could not have stayed with him, could I? His darkness would have overwhelmed me. I am not strong enough, I needed a world of light, of joy, of comfort. Here I have everything. Raoul has offered me the world, I do not need what the Angel could give me anymore. The thought hurt, but she made herself think it, made herself believe it. I have a new life. Here. With Raoul. I am Christine de Chagny, no longer Christine Daae.
o o o o o
It must have been nearly four in the morning when he retreated back into the Opera Populaire, his mind muddled, thick with dark emotions. His thoughts touched on the managers, they were gone for the evening, their office locked up. Though they blatantly denied his presence to the staff, which currently suited him as he did not want them pursuing him, but also kept them interested in him. He had heard the rumors that the reward for any information on him had increased. Drastically. I wonder what those two fools are about…Surely there is a reason for the increase…His lips drawn into a thin line, he decided that it would be necessary to search the office for information. They would only increase the bounty if they believed me real, and that could be dangerous. I need to know what they are planning. Ducking through a series of passages through the gut of the Opera Populaire, he appeared before the managers' office. His hand sliding to a pocket on the inside of his cloak, he pulled out a lock pick and deftly broke into the office.
Moonlight streamed in through decorative windows, illuminating the cluttered office. The former Phantom scowled at the piles of papers, mess of notes and letters strewn about on every surface. Purposely forgetting his own slovenly chambers, he cursed the managers for their incompetence and began to dig through the papers. Music notes, bills, receipts, letters from "delighted" opera-goers, all of this is useless! Dashing a stack of letters to the ground, he was about to give up in frustration when the crest imprinted on the sealing wax of a letter on the floor caught his eye. Scooping it up, he thumbed the wax, eyes narrowing, contempt rising. I know this seal…it is that fool boy's crest! Practically ripping the letter open, his eyes scanning the curling script of the nobleman, currently still the Opera Populaire's patron. He rambles…Why he bothered to stay the patron of this god forsaken place is beyond me…Suddenly, his eyes caught at a paragraph.
…Though my wife and I are currently away from the Opera Populaire, her demons still haunt her, I can see them in her eyes. She thinks of her terrifying devil of a tutor often, and shakes with the fear of him. Though I believe him to be dead, sincerely hope him to be, she does not believe it so, having absolute faith in his resourcefulness and reluctance to do what would please us most, to die. The Opera Populaire, though I am delighted to continue to fund, is costing me an exorbitant sum to rebuild. Despite this, I am more than willing to deliver more funds to you if you would oblige me in raising the price of the bounty on our dear "Phantom's" head. I would very much like to see my wife happy, and I fear that as long as he lives, she will be tormented by memories of him.
Regards,
Vicompte Raoul De Chagny
Though his anger was generally well controlled, his rage boiled over, and with a roar of fury, he crumpled the letter. Grabbing hold of the corner of a desk, he flipped it, anger fueling him. This is why he stays on! To demand my death! To demand it for the sake and peace of mind of the only human being I have ever dared love! He hides away while bribing others to do away with me! Fuming, he continued to trash the office, flipping more furniture, hurling chairs across the room with wrathful snarls. Sudden fatigue gripped him, he sank to the ground in utter despair. She wishes me dead. She is frightened by even the memory of me. She wishes me dead so she can live happily with her prince…why? I have done nothing to her, asked nothing of her…I leave her in peace. I live here alone, only wanting to stay alive. She has everything she could have wanted, and I have nothing. Why does she still wish my death? Is life itself to much to ask? His hands trembling, breath short, he wobbled to his feet. I…cannot think on this now. Someone will have heard. Scanning the massacred office, he took his flight.
