Façade
George Smillie
(A/N: Yes, yes I stole the title from the musical... OK for the purposes of this story, forget the time differences involving Phantom and J&H. Also, for the purposes of this story, please forget the ending of Jekyll & Hyde! Jekyll is NOT dead, neither is Lucy! NOTE TO ALL PHANS: SEE IF YOU CAN NOTICE THE PHANTOM QUOTES)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom and related characters. They belong to Gaston Leroux (Or do they? Cause he's been dead a long time). Same goes for Jekyll & Hyde for Louis Stevenson...
PROLOUGE
Emma Carew lay dying, her body curled into a foetus position. She shook violently, her hands clutching around her throat where a scarlet smile lay under her neck. A small pool of blood had gathered underneath her. As the last juices of life escaped from the young girl, a million thoughts raced through her head.
Why now? After so long...Her husband was supposed to be a different person, but this fateful morning it had not been her beloved Henry Jekyll she had awoken to, butt someone quite different. He had lifted her from the bed, ghastly eyes gleaming in the morning light, a sinister smile curling across his detestable face. He had caressed her cheek before slamming her to the ground.
Oh God the pain was intense. Clutching at her chest, she moaned and cried, desperately attempting a cry for help, but it was far too late. She'd past his point of no return.
The man, no the monster had grabbed her by the throat and throttled her, then had screamed into her face, laughing as her once brave face crumpled into a tearful pool of fear.
In her mind there was a flash of her wedding day, when the monster had emerged from the depths of her love's strong body. And in this darkness Emma had seen her again.
He had kissed her, hard and with terrifying strength, his foul tongue wriggling its way into her mouth, then dropping her, and dragging her by the hair into the corner she was now in. She remembered his manical laughter when he had first shown her the knife, peering deep into her eys, sneering wickedly. Then he had cut...and cut...and cut...Blackness surrounded her, then nothingness.
Downstairs in the luxury Victorian home, the door was on it's hinges, and on the kitchen floor was a smashed glass, red liquid, almost blood-like spilled over the floor.
George Smillie
(A/N: Yes, yes I stole the title from the musical... OK for the purposes of this story, forget the time differences involving Phantom and J&H. Also, for the purposes of this story, please forget the ending of Jekyll & Hyde! Jekyll is NOT dead, neither is Lucy! NOTE TO ALL PHANS: SEE IF YOU CAN NOTICE THE PHANTOM QUOTES)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom and related characters. They belong to Gaston Leroux (Or do they? Cause he's been dead a long time). Same goes for Jekyll & Hyde for Louis Stevenson...
PROLOUGE
Emma Carew lay dying, her body curled into a foetus position. She shook violently, her hands clutching around her throat where a scarlet smile lay under her neck. A small pool of blood had gathered underneath her. As the last juices of life escaped from the young girl, a million thoughts raced through her head.
Why now? After so long...Her husband was supposed to be a different person, but this fateful morning it had not been her beloved Henry Jekyll she had awoken to, butt someone quite different. He had lifted her from the bed, ghastly eyes gleaming in the morning light, a sinister smile curling across his detestable face. He had caressed her cheek before slamming her to the ground.
Oh God the pain was intense. Clutching at her chest, she moaned and cried, desperately attempting a cry for help, but it was far too late. She'd past his point of no return.
The man, no the monster had grabbed her by the throat and throttled her, then had screamed into her face, laughing as her once brave face crumpled into a tearful pool of fear.
In her mind there was a flash of her wedding day, when the monster had emerged from the depths of her love's strong body. And in this darkness Emma had seen her again.
He had kissed her, hard and with terrifying strength, his foul tongue wriggling its way into her mouth, then dropping her, and dragging her by the hair into the corner she was now in. She remembered his manical laughter when he had first shown her the knife, peering deep into her eys, sneering wickedly. Then he had cut...and cut...and cut...Blackness surrounded her, then nothingness.
Downstairs in the luxury Victorian home, the door was on it's hinges, and on the kitchen floor was a smashed glass, red liquid, almost blood-like spilled over the floor.