The silence of the cold and dismal corridor was shattered by a sharp, ugly crunch as Erik slammed his fist into a rotten plank nearby. The wood buckled under the unexpected force, bending in on itself with a crack. The sound was sickly satisfying, and had all the effect on Erik as blood to a shark. He forced his elbow, aided by the full weight of his body, through the wood and bared his teeth in a menacing grin as he felt it snap into pieces. But even this did not satisfy his rage. In a spurt of destructive greed, Erik found himself stomping on the remnants of the wood, and had absolutely no intention to stop until each and every part was thoroughly crushed into splinters.
Somehow, through the din Erik created, he heard the sound of footsteps. The cool, clear feeling of total control flooded back into Erik, restored by the fear of his existence being found. Erik quickly kicked the remains of the shattered support aside and pressed himself against the wall, once more a just shadow among the shadows. Although his hiding place was optimal, cast completely in darkness by the light that spilled over from the mirror, Erik pulled his lasso into hand as an extra precaution. In Erik's experience, it never hurt to be prepared for any possible scenario. The footsteps were far off yet, anyone else would not have noticed the intruding sound for a while. But if anyone saw Erik in this way, as the man and not as the ghost, the life he had built for himself might fall to pieces in a matter of minutes. Erik would do whatever it took to keep his existence a secret, even if it took breaking his promise to Nadir once more.
Minutes crawled by as Erik stood, hidden behind one of the thousands of wooden support beams. In these minutes, Erik indeed was the ghost he took such pains to mimic. He stood almost inhumanly still and not a sound escaped him. The only thing which would have given a hint to his life would have been any escaping body heat in those cool passages.
Finally, the damned intruder to Erik's kingdom came within a comfortable distance for Erik to guess who this interloper was by the sounds of the footsteps. Instinctively, Erik's grip tightened on the Punjab lasso as he strained his ears to better catch the sound. Recognition hit Erik with the force of being struck as his heart leapt and he felt himself go cold with fear. Involuntarily, the hairs on the back of Erik's neck stood up and he attempted to press himself even further into the shelter of the dark.
Oh God. No. Not now.
The sound of slow, measured footsteps, occasionally punctuated by the sound of something or another sliding over the worn wood, or a quick tap resonating from the wooden framework made their presence known to Erik. It was him.
Erik's heart raced as he tried to press himself as far as he could into the dark. He quickly pulled his hat down as far as he could over his mask and flipped the collar of his cloak over his face. While it had seemed seconds ago that he could have moved slower if he tried, he seemed to be approaching Erik with incalculable velocity.
He was coming into Erik's vicinity now. Slowly, oh so slowly, he came closer. Erik dared not move, dared not to breathe. But as the man came within arm's reach, Erik could not help but press the masked side of his face closer to the wall. As he passed, Erik was taken in every aspect of his figure. He was almost as prepared as Erik was. Dressed entirely in black, a hat pulled over his face, a dark scarf wrapped around the lower part of his head, the only faults Erik found were in the cloth and in the shoes. Even if Erik's hearing was more honed than the average human's and it was more than likely Erik was quibbling over little things, it grated on him to not take precautions. As a result, Erik refused to wear rough, course clothing, partially from an aesthetic view but primarily from the fact that as he walked, excess noise would be reduced. But he really could not fault him for what little aspects of the true professional sneak he lacked. After all, not everyone knew the tools of the trade of assassins.
Finally, after what felt like years, he passed Erik's immediate hiding place. But then, an unexpected sound broke through the dark. The sound of an object being kicked, and then skidding across the floor. Immediately, Erik heard him stopped and then the rustle of cloth as he knelt down. Erik heard him feeling around in the dark, the sound of leather brushing against wood almost obscenely loud.
Damn damn damn. The scaffolding. Damn.
Erik cursed himself. Of all the times to lose control, of course the first time in a long time Erik had given himself completely to anger would be the time he was in the area.
Finally after eternities of keeping still and hiding, Erik heard the sound of cloth on cloth, most likely him pocketing something, and heard him stand up. He resumed his achingly slow, quiet walk into the dark, slowly leaving Erik behind. After giving him ample time to walk further away, Erik quickly retreated into the belly of the Opera Populaire. Once he had gone far enough, into passages so complex and convoluted he himself rarely employed them, he let himself relax.
Damn it! The one time I lose control is one of the only times that he was there! The one man in this world who I fear.
Even the Opera Ghost had the sense to fear him the only other nameless figure who haunted the Opera Populaire. To the best of Erik's knowledge, the only ones in the Opera Populaire who knew of the shadow's existence were the managers, Nadir, and Erik himself. Naturally, he did not have Erik's flair for the dramatic, or crave it as Erik did. Erik knew himself to be superior in all regards to him, but nevertheless Erik feared him. He was only other who had condemned his life be lived inside the Opera Populaire, albeit for more noble reasons than Erik, and the one man who could bring Erik down.
Of course, I meet him after that! After Christine….
Christine…
Erik tried to keep his emotions under control like he always did, reverting to that smooth mask he made his home inside. Sometimes, it was easy, but not today, not now. As wretched memories of a few moments ago flooded back into his mind, he could not help but sob, an empty feeling forcing its way into his chest and piercing his heart. Christine's careless abandonment hit Erik with fresh pain as he grasped a nearby ladder for much needed support. He almost collapsed right there and then with the burdun of his suffering. But the terror of almost falling into his clutches was still fresh in Erik's mind.
Within the span of a few moments, Erik was involuntarily dragging himself back to his house. Blinded by burning tears and accompanied only by the sounds of his own agony, he rushed for the comforts of his home, familiar in its emptiness and eternal silence, save for Erik's music.
But even after he finally was home, Erik was not free. Even the burrow he had created for himself, far away from any man, was no longer the shelter he so desperately craved. It seemed that now, every corner held some memory of Christine. Here was the sheet music he had tutored her from, there was the book she had read. His bedroom, the sheets that she had slept on.
There was no escape from the pain.
He turned and ripped the coverings from the alcove. The dress stood there almost mockingly. How did he ever hope to win Christine? The very idea now seemed absurd to him. Why would Christine be even remotely interested in Erik? What could he possibly have to offer her? He had no legal source of income, he lived like a mouse, seventeen years older, and above all, monstrous.
As much as it pained him, he could not blame Christine for not choosing to wait to see him once more. Just that morning they had spoken, what more did Christine need from him in the same day? But of course, the hopeful fool he was, he had been waiting behind the mirror almost as soon as rehearsals had ended, happily planning his revenge on Reyer for daring to address his angel so cruelly. He had not expected Christine to have been so shaken by those fools who were so envious of her perfection. He had been so damned sure that Christine would turn to him for comfort; after all, did he not say that he would be waiting for her after rehearsals? when the knock on the door had startled them both. Then before Erik knew it, Christine was changing into evening wear, completely ignorant of Erik's presence and it was all Erik could do to preserve her modesty and avert his eyes. Then she was gone, likely sharing a laugh with the fop.
That damned boy.
This thought twisted Erik's chain of thoughts and forced them down a much darker path.
That damned Viscount! Did Christine not know by now that there was no such thing as a free meal in this entire world? Everyone was out to get something; there was absolutely no completely altruistic act. There was some degree of personal motivation behind everything, although some were kinder than others. This Viscount, what could he possibly want with Christine but to take advantage of her?
Erik knew the boy's breed. He would promise undying love and happiness to Christine then turn around and marry someone of his own status, leaving Christine with nothing. He would not appreciate the singular talent she possessed! He could have absolutely no appreciation of the purity and goodness of Christine's soul! He was not worthy of Christine!
And you are? A snide voice asked. You? A monster?
Erik turned, wrenched open a drawer, and pulled out the only mirror he owned. He held the wretched thing in front of his face and examined the reflection of his face, split in half by the cold porcelain. Certainly he looked alright now. Not normal, by any stretch of the imagination, but passable.
But Christine would eventually have to come to deal with the truth. As good as she was, she would not be able to accept the truth without intense preparation.
But then, who was he to condemn an innocent to a life with a monster?
In a fit of self-loathing, Erik ripped off the mask and let it fall. His naked visage stared back at him and even Erik felt a wave of revulsion wash over him. He stared at the image, daring himself to look away, until absolute disgust and repulsion overpowered him and he was forced to put the mirror aside.
No man on this Earth could possibly be truly worthy of Christine, least of all Erik. Christine was, arguably, as close to the divine as a mortal could be and Erik had been called a demon countless times.
But Satan himself would have to drag Erik into the depths of hell before he would give up.
Erik sat on the bed and reevaluated the situation. Erik could in no way hint to Christine that her abandonment of Erik bothered him. He could not risk scaring her with the intensity of his feelings. Tomorrow morning, he would be the absolute image of an understanding friend, a gentleman. After all, what right did he really have to Christine's time at this stage? She only just found out that he was a man, not an angel. No, he would be the supportive friend, the ally she needed in this cruel world. In the meantime, he would discourage the boy from seeing her again. These aristocrats, for all their talk, were spineless fools. The Viscount would not miss Christine at all, once he found the task fruitless and potentially dangerous. Once Raoul de Chagny had dropped Christine's acquaintance, Erik could safely proceed in the slow process of wooing Christine.
Erik breathed deeply. Not all hope was lost.
He stood up and replaced the mask.
Erik had preparations to make before tomorrow morning.
A/N: I know I keep saying this but THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THE PEOPLE WHO REVIEW! Reviews mean so much to me and give me the motivation to keep writing weekly. Also, a public thank you to the writer with insane talent in my family, my sister whatswiththemustache, for beta-ing this chapter for me and helping me turn up the angry angst. If you like BBC's Merlin or Netflix's Daredevil, I suggest you go check her fics out.