A/N: Still no battery cord (sighs) but I will get it soon, perhaps
tomorrow. Thanks for the reviews! They are all so encouraging. Just
remember to be honest I need to know if you don't like something, but if
you like it, great! I've been thinking of some new Phan fics I could
possibly write. I'll keep you all updated on that. Oh and I hope you'll
forgive me, it's late, 11:45 P.M. and I'm just now finishing this chapter
(busy day!) (Yawns)...anyways R&R...
"Ancient and magnificent isn't it," Erik gazed up into the great cavern above him. Christina did not comment, for what could she add? "Not many people know that on the ceiling of the underground are paintings done by famous painters from France," He turned to look at her, his face etched with pride. Then he realized she probably wasn't impressed. She couldn't see the high arched ceiling with the intimate detailing on the columns that supported it. He grasped her hand gently and pulled her over to where a column stood. He pressed her hand against it so she could feel the grandness for herself. "Better?" He asked. Her smile widened.
"I thought no one would understand," She breathed. "It is good that someone finally does,"
"Understand what Mon petit Ange?" He asked, even though he fully understood what she had been trying to communicate. He had wished for that same understanding all his life.
"My blindness has been a source of teasing and misunderstanding for years, but then you know what I mean," She said bitterly. He looked at her sharply. He'd never heard her speak in such a way before.
"Why the anger? Just because you have blind eyes doesn't mean there is anything else wrong with you," He asked gently.
"Most feel that there is something wrong. Just like a lame horse or a one eyed hunting hound, they throw you away with the rest of the trash,"
"That is not the truth,"
"What is the truth, Erik?" She asked softly.
"I...I don't know," He smiled down at her. "For once I don't know,"
"At least you're honest," Her hand slid away from the column and she reached out trying to find him. She brushed his shoulder with her hand feeling the black cloth of his cloak.
"You forget what the world thinks about you down here," He glanced around at the familiar sights. The vast lake rippled in the eerie glow of the candle light, the boat that was tied to a wooden post at the small dock swayed along with the rhythm.
"Until the world finds you down here," She said. He looked down into her worried eyes.
"They'll never find me," He comforted.
"How can you be certain?" She asked anxiously. He had committed murders, if they ever found him they would kill him without question.
"I have ways to protect my self, Love," He ran his fingers light through a blond curl that rested on her shoulder. "I am not as weak as some think,"
"I never thought you were weak,"
"No?" He asked a bemused smile crossed his lips. "Well then...," He trailed off still smiling at her confession. An uncomfortable silence settled among them. Erik had never had trouble with silence before. He enjoyed it, but now he felt as if he needed to never let silence reign down in the underground again. He looked at her. She was also casting about for something to say. He could see it on her face clearly by the dim lighting of the candles. She was biting her lip. He almost laughed at her child-like expression. How she looked like Christine in that instant!
"I heard that you know the original architect of this Opera House," Christine interrupted his thoughts. He sighed. Now silence had been banished.
"Know of him? I wake up in his body every morning, Mon Ange,"
"Than it is true, you were the main architect,"
"Yes, I contributed much more time and effort than some of the others who were helping to plan this building. I prefer working alone," He smiled slowly. "But I designed all of the secret entrances and this," He looked out over the lake. "I gave excuses that the secret entrances would be put to good use by stagehands, and divas. Then when this place was built I burnt the original plans so that only the architects and I would know about it. They died unfortunately," His smile flickered for an instant. Those deaths had been of his doing, but that was in his past now. Never again would he murder. He looked back at Christina who stood there so trustingly listening to him. He wished he could show her the truth about himself. He had this aching feeling that would not leave. Like his journey through life with his face would never cease to be haunted until he did give in and take peace. When would he truly reveal what was behind his mask to her? The question gnawed at his heart...
"Ancient and magnificent isn't it," Erik gazed up into the great cavern above him. Christina did not comment, for what could she add? "Not many people know that on the ceiling of the underground are paintings done by famous painters from France," He turned to look at her, his face etched with pride. Then he realized she probably wasn't impressed. She couldn't see the high arched ceiling with the intimate detailing on the columns that supported it. He grasped her hand gently and pulled her over to where a column stood. He pressed her hand against it so she could feel the grandness for herself. "Better?" He asked. Her smile widened.
"I thought no one would understand," She breathed. "It is good that someone finally does,"
"Understand what Mon petit Ange?" He asked, even though he fully understood what she had been trying to communicate. He had wished for that same understanding all his life.
"My blindness has been a source of teasing and misunderstanding for years, but then you know what I mean," She said bitterly. He looked at her sharply. He'd never heard her speak in such a way before.
"Why the anger? Just because you have blind eyes doesn't mean there is anything else wrong with you," He asked gently.
"Most feel that there is something wrong. Just like a lame horse or a one eyed hunting hound, they throw you away with the rest of the trash,"
"That is not the truth,"
"What is the truth, Erik?" She asked softly.
"I...I don't know," He smiled down at her. "For once I don't know,"
"At least you're honest," Her hand slid away from the column and she reached out trying to find him. She brushed his shoulder with her hand feeling the black cloth of his cloak.
"You forget what the world thinks about you down here," He glanced around at the familiar sights. The vast lake rippled in the eerie glow of the candle light, the boat that was tied to a wooden post at the small dock swayed along with the rhythm.
"Until the world finds you down here," She said. He looked down into her worried eyes.
"They'll never find me," He comforted.
"How can you be certain?" She asked anxiously. He had committed murders, if they ever found him they would kill him without question.
"I have ways to protect my self, Love," He ran his fingers light through a blond curl that rested on her shoulder. "I am not as weak as some think,"
"I never thought you were weak,"
"No?" He asked a bemused smile crossed his lips. "Well then...," He trailed off still smiling at her confession. An uncomfortable silence settled among them. Erik had never had trouble with silence before. He enjoyed it, but now he felt as if he needed to never let silence reign down in the underground again. He looked at her. She was also casting about for something to say. He could see it on her face clearly by the dim lighting of the candles. She was biting her lip. He almost laughed at her child-like expression. How she looked like Christine in that instant!
"I heard that you know the original architect of this Opera House," Christine interrupted his thoughts. He sighed. Now silence had been banished.
"Know of him? I wake up in his body every morning, Mon Ange,"
"Than it is true, you were the main architect,"
"Yes, I contributed much more time and effort than some of the others who were helping to plan this building. I prefer working alone," He smiled slowly. "But I designed all of the secret entrances and this," He looked out over the lake. "I gave excuses that the secret entrances would be put to good use by stagehands, and divas. Then when this place was built I burnt the original plans so that only the architects and I would know about it. They died unfortunately," His smile flickered for an instant. Those deaths had been of his doing, but that was in his past now. Never again would he murder. He looked back at Christina who stood there so trustingly listening to him. He wished he could show her the truth about himself. He had this aching feeling that would not leave. Like his journey through life with his face would never cease to be haunted until he did give in and take peace. When would he truly reveal what was behind his mask to her? The question gnawed at his heart...