Erik was alone in the dark. He shook his head at himself- it was typical.
He had started out his life very much alone, very much in the dark, and it
was probably proper, in some way, that he would end his life the same way.
Christine had left, and Erik had slid through a trap door to wait for the
mob to finish destroying his home. It was funny how, when one lived in a
place for long enough, it would become a home- even a house that was
hundreds of feet below the earth in a cellar of the Paris Opera House.
He had been prepared for something like this. The trap door opened to a little room that was damp and uncomfortable but infinitely more pleasant than being beaten to death by a raging mob. As he crouched in the dampness and listened to the mob destroy the only things he had left to him, it surprised him that the only thing he could think of was the way Christine's eyes had looked before she had turned away. Those eyes, full of pity and passion and something else... Something he could not name, something he had not seen before. And then it was over, and she had left him alone, to go be with her vicomte.
Then the mob had left, and now Erik was alone in the remains of his shattered home, cursing the darkness and shadows that were engulfing him and taunting him with Christine. She was everywhere, sitting in the chair or emerging from her room- Erik wished for the first time in his life for a lamp with which to cut the shadows and curse them back to the hell from which they came, the hell he knew all too well.
Sadness and overwhelming loss welled up in his throat and burst from his lungs in a haunting cry. "Christine! Christine!" Then again, softer, with tears in his voice, "Christine..." But it was as it had been for his entire life, and would be until the day he died. No one answered.
He had been prepared for something like this. The trap door opened to a little room that was damp and uncomfortable but infinitely more pleasant than being beaten to death by a raging mob. As he crouched in the dampness and listened to the mob destroy the only things he had left to him, it surprised him that the only thing he could think of was the way Christine's eyes had looked before she had turned away. Those eyes, full of pity and passion and something else... Something he could not name, something he had not seen before. And then it was over, and she had left him alone, to go be with her vicomte.
Then the mob had left, and now Erik was alone in the remains of his shattered home, cursing the darkness and shadows that were engulfing him and taunting him with Christine. She was everywhere, sitting in the chair or emerging from her room- Erik wished for the first time in his life for a lamp with which to cut the shadows and curse them back to the hell from which they came, the hell he knew all too well.
Sadness and overwhelming loss welled up in his throat and burst from his lungs in a haunting cry. "Christine! Christine!" Then again, softer, with tears in his voice, "Christine..." But it was as it had been for his entire life, and would be until the day he died. No one answered.