Disclaimer: We don't need to tell you this, but you
know, it's just here. We don't own
'Phantom of the Opera', though we would like to. That belongs to Gaston Leroux
and the rest of the wonderful (or not so wonderful… *
coughcoughFORSYTHEcoughcough*…) geniuses who have brought this story to
life. Don't bother suing us; we don't
make a penny off this.
Summary: A phic exploring the possibility of another person sharing
Erik's face.
A Story of Love: by Lady Death & L'Ange de Folie
* * *
The warm sunlight of the late morning peeked indolently through the slightly
parted curtains of the room. If the
curtains had been opened just a little farther, then anyone who cared to take a
look would have noticed that today was turning out to be rather beautiful. Unfortunately, the room was essentially
vacant of all people to observe this, except for the small lump in the
bed.
The small lump was the room's only occupant, and he was beginning to wake.
Warmth... Light... Softness…
As the boy slowly opened his eyes, he noticed something was definitely amiss.
What…?
He rolled to his back, and realized that he had been sleeping in… a bed?
He pushed gently against the thick blanket that was tucked against him, unused
to feeling of it.
A few others things slowly trickled into consciousness.
He was clean…!
All the grime and dirt that he was accustomed to being coated in was gone and
washed away. He ran a hand through his
neatly combed hair in bewilderment. The rags he had always remembered wearing
had been stripped away and he now wore a soft, loosely fitting shirt and pair
trousers. They were a little large, but he didn't focus too long on that. He also began to find that all the cuts and
bruises that had recently accumulated over his body were carefully attended
to. He tentatively touched several of
the bandages, wondering if he were dreaming again. When nothing changed, his heart began to race.
He quickly sat up, ignoring the familiar aches and pains he normally associated
with such an action. He hurriedly glanced around the room in confusion.
Where?
Definitely was something amiss… This was not the fair… This was not the work of
anyone at that fair...
The boy frowned.
His environment had changed entirely.
But with a few more looks around, he decided that it wasn't wholly for
the worst.
He was in a good-sized room; well furnished, and pleasant to look at. There were a few comfortable looking chairs
situated about, a small desk in the corner, and there were a few books stacked
on a small shelf. The temperature was
comfortably warm and he could detect the scent of something heavenly wafting in
the air. His stomach growled in
response.
A thought suddenly slapped him in the face and he fearfully crawled back under
the blankets.
He finally discerned what had been so incredibly different and surprising about
his surroundings.
There was an absence of bars and a cage.
Trembling, he lay back down, stiffening and staring blankly up at the plain
ceiling.
What is going on…?
He was rarely ever let out of his cage.
The only times he was let out was when he was roughly hauled from it and
allowed to walk around while it was being cleaned or… unless he was being
punished for something… He shuddered at that thought. Except for when that happened, the bars were always there.
Well, he was out of the cage, wasn't he?
So it was being cleaned, then… But, where was it?
His eyes wandered back over the room's layout and the cage wasn't anywhere in
sight.
What is going on…?
Nothing was making sense now.
He remained there for a long while, too terrified to make any sort of move.
I'm going to get into trouble – I'm not in my cage…
He's going to be angry if he finds out I'm not where I'm supposed to be…
The boy buried his face in his hands and tried to stop the fear that was
paralyzing him.
So much trouble…
A soft creaking sound reached his ears and he instinctively twisted around to
face the source.
A tall, imposing, darkly clad figure in a mask stood in the doorway, his body
framed by the soft light in the doorway.
The sight was frightening in itself, but the initial thing that alarmed
the boy, more than the mask, was that he didn't know who this man was. This was not his owner… in fact, he was not
even sure he fully recognized the figure.
Perhaps this was his new owner?
A memory of his last conscious thoughts shot through his mind… He was being
beaten again - he must have done something wrong… just couldn't remember what…
He had gotten taken out of his cage for it…
His heart began to thud painfully in his chest and he felt as if he couldn't
breathe.
I'm out of my cage, he thought in horror. I'm out of my cage!
The boy frantically scrambled backwards, away from the figure in the
doorway. He landed on the floor with an
unceremonious thud.
There's someone here and I'm out of my cage!
He didn't register the jarring fall, instead focusing on moving as fast as
possible over the hardwood floor into a protective corner. He wouldn't get thrown around as much…
To the boy's dread, the intruder began to silently advance towards him at a
slow pace. He also noticed with some
trepidation that he couldn't move further away now.
His muscles froze and he found he couldn't move even if he wanted to.
The man stopped about an arm's length away from him, and the boy could not
detect any weapons or objects on his person.
It would be a simple beating then…
The boy felt himself shake all over. He
stared up at the dark figure, and he could feel his eyes welling with tears of
fear.
The man gracefully crouched down next to him, hands held in the air.
He whimpered again and watched those long, elegant hands, unable to tear his
eyes away, in fear of them striking him if he looked away but for a
second. They looked incredibly strong…
His mind was filled with memories of pain and humiliation, and he could not
suppress a violent shudder.
An angelic, commanding, yet strangely gentle voice filled the air.
"Arrêtes, garçon…! Je ne vais pas
faire mal tu…"
The boy looked up at the man in a moment of wonder, and stared at the
mask.
Did that voice come from…?
As his thoughts began to loosen from the voice that held them captive, he
suddenly became aware of two things. One, the fear he had felt gripping his
body languidly began to ebb away and an eerie calm replaced it. Two… this man spoke French, it sounded like
– the boy felt the tears returning to his eyes…
He couldn't speak French…
The boy felt embarrassment burning up and down his face. He glanced back at the man in confusion.
I don't know… he thought miserably. I don't understand…
He looked back down at the floor and decided that the man's voice was not
threatening at all. In fact, he had
sounded almost… kind… He pushed that
last thought to the back of his mind.
He continued to stare at the floor in shame.
"Qu'est-ce qui ne vas pas?" the man inquired gently, but more compelling
than what he had previously said.
The boy felt himself begin to tremble again.
That sounded like a question… But… he didn't know! How could he answer if he didn't know what
the question was asking…?
He pulled his knees up to his chest, and ducked his head down. He tried not to let his frustration and
slowly returning panic find an outlet, but it did, and he was unable to
restrain a few quiet sobs.
He'll hurt me for this; I know he will… I know it…
The two continued to sit there for a long while, neither saying anything. The boy was grateful for that.
Another unfamiliar voice broke the silence:
feminine, this time.
"Erik?"
The boy's head shot up. That voice
sounded familiar. He looked over to
find a woman in a long, brown dress standing outside the still open doorway,
holding a small tray in her hands.
The man looked over, but the woman's attention had now focused completely and
uncomfortably on the boy.
"Oh! Il est éveillé!" she said, sounding friendly.
She quickly entered the room and carefully placed the tray down on the bed
before moving closer, standing behind the man in black.
The boy stared blankly up at this new person a bit fearfully until recognition
dawned, and the fear began to rise to earlier levels.
He knew this woman! She was the lady
who had come to the fair and… yelled at Aldo, he remembered with no small
amount of dread. Aldo had been furious
and had taken out his rage on… him later that night. He tried not to dwell on that for very long.
"Comment vas-tu?" she asked softly.
He began to feel even more confused.
What was she doing here, then?
Did she bring him here? He
dropped his head again, trying not to let the fresh tears drip from his eyes.
What they had been saying to him were obvious questions, and he hadn't answered
a single one of them. They had to have
been getting angry by now, but to his extreme surprise – and almost suspicion –
neither of them seemed to be angry, nor had they make any motion to strike him.
He whimpered again.
What did these people want from him?
He was so confused.
"Qu'est-ce qu'il a?" the woman asked, although, the words did not seem
to be directed towards him.
"Please… I don't understand…" he whispered mournfully to himself, the tears
sliding unheeded down his cheeks.
The man unexpectedly began to chuckle, and the boy shivered and braced himself.
"Quelle?" The boy heard her ask.
There was a brief moment of silence.
"Do we understand now?" the man asked with infinite care.
The boy's head shot up in shock and for a moment, he could do nothing but stare
blankly. He nodded his head in wondrous
affirmation.
"I do believe we have solved our little problem, young one," the man commented,
with lyrical amusement dancing in his voice.
The boy looked upwards, and stared at the man in the mask, and noticed a pair
of golden eyes regarding him thoughtfully.
The man observed him for another moment or so before he got to his feet and
moved to sit on the bed. The
unanticipated movement sent the boy cringing instinctively back into his
corner. He quietly sighed and looked
back upwards.
The man was engaged in light conversation with the woman, and as he watched
their hand motions, he noticed with ravenous hunger that there was food sitting
on the tray the woman had brought in.
He was so hungry…
He flinched as the man returned to crouching down next to him once more. He pressed himself into the wall, trying to
maintain distance between them.
"Well," the man said, after a pause. "Do you feel any better this morning? You
were a bit ill last night."
The boy stared for a moment, still unused to the beauty of the voice and the
odd gentleness that sang in it. He
began to wonder if this were just another one of his dreams…
"Yes, sir," he quickly replied with a small nod.
Why does it matter, he asked inwardly. It doesn't matter… Why would
he want to know how I feel?
In all truth, he felt the way he always had felt and remembered feeling… his
head was hurting; he was tired, sore, and hungry.
His eyes darted back to the tray, and he longingly looked at the food.
"No," the man said.
The boy froze instantly and tensed. Had
he done something wrong? His heart
pounded in his chest, and for a split second, he wondered what exactly he had
done and what sort of punishment it would merit.
"You do not have to call me that," the man continued, a note of sadness in his
voice.
The boy blinked and felt all the tension leave his body in a rush. He felt himself trembling more violently
than he wanted to admit and his breath was coming in quicker than normal.
"It's all right…" the man soothed, and the boy noticed compassion in his voice.
"I know how difficult it may be to believe this, but no one is going to harm
you here."
The boy had nothing to say to this. He
stared at the floor in disbelief, unable to form a response. Could he believe this man? Could he believe
that? It was impossible…
"I'm Erik," the man said, when he didn't answer. He motioned toward the lady who was not occupying one of the soft
looking chairs in the room. "This is
Madame Christine de Chagny." She rose
when he said this, and gave a small curtsy.
The boy bit his lip, uncertain of how to respond to a formality that he
hadn't seen for years. In the end, he
politely nodded towards her and she smiled at him.
The man – Erik – paused for a moment before asking, "What is your name?"
The boy gazed back down at his feet.
His name? He struggled to remember.
He wasn't what HE had called him… HE had called him lots of things, but
they weren't his name… It was rather what… SHE … had called him… but what was
it? It was so long ago…
The boy took a deep breath and quietly responded in a small voice, "Edward…"
* * *
(A/N: Like it? Hate it? Leave a review! We love them so very much… Well, there
you are! We apologize for the wait, (we
hope you're all still there!), any bad French above – we relied on textbooks,
phrase books, and a beginning French student.
Please email us about any corrections that should be made, if any are
found… With that out of the way, we
hope you like Edward! And, Lady Death
would like to say that there will be an explanation for his clothes in later
chapters – we're aware that one wouldn't wear something like that to bed back
then…)