Disclaimer: I own the dream...sort of. But not really 'cause I'm in it and so is Erik...I don't own either of us.
"Through the Looking Glass"
(By The Phantom Parisienne)
He leaned over the mirror, which glimmered, causing him to instinctively bow his head slightly towards it. He was unsure of what he was doing, I could tell. He was in an almost trance-like state. "Through the looking-glass..." I murmured. His knees buckled beneath him. "Down the rabbit-hole." He fell. Beneath the mask his eyes drifted closed as though he were a sleeping child. His cloak furled about him like two great pairs of black wings stretching towards the heavens; they were blown back by an unseen gust of wind -- perhaps they were wings; my senses of judgment and perception were clouded. Why I did not attempt to stop him, I do not know. I still despise myself for not taking action. His motion was so fluid and graceful -- it would have been a sin to seize him and pull him from the mirror's grasp. It wasn't until he had gone and not even a thread of his cloak-wings remained that I realised I had lost something precious and vital to my existence.
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As previously stated, this was the inspiration for my popular phic Élan Vital. I've only remembered it now 'cause I had it again...This dream. And I think I was in my own body and that it was Erik, but if you put Christine in my place and think hard, the metaphor's applicable to the story and how Christine sort of "left" Erik. Oh, hell, I'll let you interpret it on your own. This is just my two cents. Comments, metaphorical suggestions, etc., please *hint* say so in a review.
And you'll see why this is so Élan-Vital-esque in a few chapters or so. Until then, you'll have to wait.
~The Phantom Parisienne