(A/N: Thank you for the positive reviews! It really made my day, and makes
me want to write. Also, probably most of you have seen the silent version
of the POTO movie. My version of the lake is the version used in the
movie, not the broad, wide expanse I get the feel of in the play. Perhaps I
was just picking up on the wrong vibes though.Also, this might seem
somewhat unorthodox to phantom phans and phantom phiction, but I never
really thought of Erik being that old. I mean I couldn't really imagine him
being fifty or sixty when the events at the opera house occurred, though I
guess it makes sense, so that's why things in my story might seem weird. I
kind of imagine him between the ages of 38-45.)
The mob was small, and composed mainly of stagehands. They were old, bent men. Also highly superstitious. I had a feeling they had not come here because of some internal struggle for justice, but rather they saw it as a way to get a little extra money in their pockets on payday. For whatever the reason, I decided just to play on their superstition. There was no need to kill them.
It was a fairly simple, basic plot. I used my voice, and the siren, and they were gone within minutes. It was so easy it really wasn't enjoyable. Nothing seemed enjoyable anymore. It almost seemed my life was settling into a routine. It was a frightening thought, and one that kept me busy for hours while I milled about my house and, in a final attempt at self preservation, went for a walk on the Rue Scribe.
Dusk had fallen a mere twenty minutes before I slipped out of the passage. It was as though the sky and streetlamps could sense my discomfort and were dark and hushed. I became yet another shadow among shadows. Nothing different. Nothing changed. It was as though just having Christine around had set my life into a sort of everyday domesticity that I had never even dreamed of. I had become almost mellow. The chandelier incident had been the only really violent act I had done in months. In a way, it was a relief, but I was missing the constant action and excitement, the rush of energy powering through my veins as though encouraging me to make something of the day, grab the bull by the horns, and make my own destiny. It had not been that way for a long while.
I had no time that night to mull over the young couples strolling through the park, hand in hand, or even just the people, walking along, being normal. I was too busy thinking of things. I had not really thought about myself, and it was time that I did. I was beginning to lose sight of everything I had plans for, and even sight of life itself. Normal routines might work for normal people, but I am definitely not a normal person. I began to think of plans. Plan after plan formulating in my mind in the short walk back to the Opera. I had saved my soul and myself in that short walk.
Though it might sound as though Christine was far from my thoughts that evening, she really was the cause of the thoughts. I was still madly in love with her. I could not leave her to Raoul. He was pale and practically sickly, and when he spoke of guarding her I had almost laughed out loud. It seemed to me he needed to protecting more than she did. I knew Christine could do fine on her own, as she had demonstrated before. Soon Christine would tire of Raoul, and I would be there, waiting for her. I would win her my own way. With intelligence and strategy. Things that would never even occur to Vicomte to ever do, would be the things slowly tearing her away from him, and sliding her closer and closer to me. It was a plan that could not fail.
The mob was small, and composed mainly of stagehands. They were old, bent men. Also highly superstitious. I had a feeling they had not come here because of some internal struggle for justice, but rather they saw it as a way to get a little extra money in their pockets on payday. For whatever the reason, I decided just to play on their superstition. There was no need to kill them.
It was a fairly simple, basic plot. I used my voice, and the siren, and they were gone within minutes. It was so easy it really wasn't enjoyable. Nothing seemed enjoyable anymore. It almost seemed my life was settling into a routine. It was a frightening thought, and one that kept me busy for hours while I milled about my house and, in a final attempt at self preservation, went for a walk on the Rue Scribe.
Dusk had fallen a mere twenty minutes before I slipped out of the passage. It was as though the sky and streetlamps could sense my discomfort and were dark and hushed. I became yet another shadow among shadows. Nothing different. Nothing changed. It was as though just having Christine around had set my life into a sort of everyday domesticity that I had never even dreamed of. I had become almost mellow. The chandelier incident had been the only really violent act I had done in months. In a way, it was a relief, but I was missing the constant action and excitement, the rush of energy powering through my veins as though encouraging me to make something of the day, grab the bull by the horns, and make my own destiny. It had not been that way for a long while.
I had no time that night to mull over the young couples strolling through the park, hand in hand, or even just the people, walking along, being normal. I was too busy thinking of things. I had not really thought about myself, and it was time that I did. I was beginning to lose sight of everything I had plans for, and even sight of life itself. Normal routines might work for normal people, but I am definitely not a normal person. I began to think of plans. Plan after plan formulating in my mind in the short walk back to the Opera. I had saved my soul and myself in that short walk.
Though it might sound as though Christine was far from my thoughts that evening, she really was the cause of the thoughts. I was still madly in love with her. I could not leave her to Raoul. He was pale and practically sickly, and when he spoke of guarding her I had almost laughed out loud. It seemed to me he needed to protecting more than she did. I knew Christine could do fine on her own, as she had demonstrated before. Soon Christine would tire of Raoul, and I would be there, waiting for her. I would win her my own way. With intelligence and strategy. Things that would never even occur to Vicomte to ever do, would be the things slowly tearing her away from him, and sliding her closer and closer to me. It was a plan that could not fail.
