Author's note: Thanks again for your reviews! This is a very short chapter
written from the point of view of young Erik.
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, but any characters in this story which you have never heard of before are mine.
Erik, 1856
I live in a large country house near a city called Rouen. I think this is right, but I'm not sure. I never go out, you see.
My parents are nearly always away, because my father usually has to work in Paris. I think he's a mason. I've never met my father, but I met my mother once. I can't quite remember what happened.I know I heard her singing, and then I think I was hurt somehow.I remember feeling pain and being scared.it's all simply a blur in my memory. But I remember how beautiful her voice was, it was like an angel's voice, and sometimes I hear it in my dreams. I also know that she's very beautiful, because I have a little portrait of her on my bedside table. I wish I could see her again and speak to her and my father, but they're always too busy or too tired when they come back from Paris.
I'm not alone, however, because I've got my aunt to keep me company during the long days I spend in the attic. She's called Antoinette Giry, and she's very kind to me. She seems to love me very much. She spends a lot of her time up here in my attic bedroom, talking to me and playing with me. She's looked after me for as long as I can remember, and she's even taught me how to play the piano.
Sometimes I feel a little frightened up here in the attic all alone, when Aunt Giry goes to dance at the Opera House in Paris, but she's given me lots of nice things and she's always there when I need her. I love Aunt Giry.
The only other person I ever see in my attic is a young man, some sort of doctor. He looks at my face, washes it, and occasionally bandages it. He says I have what's called a "congenital deformity," but what that means is beyond me, and no one's ever bothered to explain to me properly. I have a vague memory of my aunt once telling me that it means I'm different. Sometimes my face feels a little sore, and he says I have a "skin ailment." But, apart from that, I don't see what all the fuss is about.
Sometimes, the doctor and Aunt Giry send me out of the room while they talk. I overhear them say big words like "congenital," "ostracism," and "ridicule." They also talk about someone called "Outcast." Whoever this Outcast is, I feel extremely sorry for him, because he has to live all alone, with no aunt to cuddle or comfort him. Then, after a long discussion, the doctor pats me on the head, and says "Be a good boy, Erik, and try to be brave." Then he leaves, muttering "Poor little dear" under his breath.
Sometimes, when I feel a little lonely, I look out of my window and watch other children playing in the fields below. I wish I could play with them. I always try to smile at them and press my nose against the glass, but I don't think they ever see me. I wish I had some friends, and I imagine what it would be like playing with them. There are three girls in pretty dresses and two little boys in suits. They always have a skipping rope with them. I wish I could learn to skip, but there's no room in the attic. I try to think of names for them. Names from books. The smallest girl is called "Belle" and the largest boy is called "Beast." Strange name, but nice nevertheless.
However, sometimes I get scared when I watch them, because every time I look down and see them skipping they suddenly mutter things about a monster and point to the sky, making funny signs with their hands. Then they run off, screaming. I wonder why this creature is after these children? Sometimes I have nightmares about the monster in the sky, imagining (and I have a very vivid imagination) it gobbling me up along with the rest of Rouen.
During the day, Aunt Giry teaches me how to read and write. I'm a very good reader now, but I can't quite manage to write properly. I can hardly ever join my letters, but it depends on how I feel. When people watch me I feel embarrassed and small, but, when I'm alone, I become a great artist.
Sometimes, when Aunt Giry's away, I'm left alone with my mother's housekeeper. Oh, she's a nasty piece of work! She's very unkind to me. I've often heard my aunt warning her not to touch me while she's away, but sometimes she comes into my attic bedroom to collect the laundry or remove the dirty bedclothes. I'm very frightened of her. I don't know why, but every time I see her I begin to tremble. Maybe she did something cruel to me long ago that I can't remember. She never speaks to me when she enters my room, but I know she's aware that I'm scared of her. She always smirks at me when she sees that I'm trembling, and sometimes she makes a sudden movement towards me and laughs when she sees me jump. Sometimes, when there's another servant up in the attic with her, they laugh at me behind my back and make jokes about the way I walk and talk. I limp slightly and have a strange, unpredictable voice, which can be low or high pitched depending on my mood. I'm sure she comes up to my attic for the express purpose of making fun of me. I always complain to my aunt about her, and ask her if I really do walk and talk in the wrong way, but she just laughs and smiles and cuddles me and says she doesn't care. I think she really loves me!
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, but any characters in this story which you have never heard of before are mine.
Erik, 1856
I live in a large country house near a city called Rouen. I think this is right, but I'm not sure. I never go out, you see.
My parents are nearly always away, because my father usually has to work in Paris. I think he's a mason. I've never met my father, but I met my mother once. I can't quite remember what happened.I know I heard her singing, and then I think I was hurt somehow.I remember feeling pain and being scared.it's all simply a blur in my memory. But I remember how beautiful her voice was, it was like an angel's voice, and sometimes I hear it in my dreams. I also know that she's very beautiful, because I have a little portrait of her on my bedside table. I wish I could see her again and speak to her and my father, but they're always too busy or too tired when they come back from Paris.
I'm not alone, however, because I've got my aunt to keep me company during the long days I spend in the attic. She's called Antoinette Giry, and she's very kind to me. She seems to love me very much. She spends a lot of her time up here in my attic bedroom, talking to me and playing with me. She's looked after me for as long as I can remember, and she's even taught me how to play the piano.
Sometimes I feel a little frightened up here in the attic all alone, when Aunt Giry goes to dance at the Opera House in Paris, but she's given me lots of nice things and she's always there when I need her. I love Aunt Giry.
The only other person I ever see in my attic is a young man, some sort of doctor. He looks at my face, washes it, and occasionally bandages it. He says I have what's called a "congenital deformity," but what that means is beyond me, and no one's ever bothered to explain to me properly. I have a vague memory of my aunt once telling me that it means I'm different. Sometimes my face feels a little sore, and he says I have a "skin ailment." But, apart from that, I don't see what all the fuss is about.
Sometimes, the doctor and Aunt Giry send me out of the room while they talk. I overhear them say big words like "congenital," "ostracism," and "ridicule." They also talk about someone called "Outcast." Whoever this Outcast is, I feel extremely sorry for him, because he has to live all alone, with no aunt to cuddle or comfort him. Then, after a long discussion, the doctor pats me on the head, and says "Be a good boy, Erik, and try to be brave." Then he leaves, muttering "Poor little dear" under his breath.
Sometimes, when I feel a little lonely, I look out of my window and watch other children playing in the fields below. I wish I could play with them. I always try to smile at them and press my nose against the glass, but I don't think they ever see me. I wish I had some friends, and I imagine what it would be like playing with them. There are three girls in pretty dresses and two little boys in suits. They always have a skipping rope with them. I wish I could learn to skip, but there's no room in the attic. I try to think of names for them. Names from books. The smallest girl is called "Belle" and the largest boy is called "Beast." Strange name, but nice nevertheless.
However, sometimes I get scared when I watch them, because every time I look down and see them skipping they suddenly mutter things about a monster and point to the sky, making funny signs with their hands. Then they run off, screaming. I wonder why this creature is after these children? Sometimes I have nightmares about the monster in the sky, imagining (and I have a very vivid imagination) it gobbling me up along with the rest of Rouen.
During the day, Aunt Giry teaches me how to read and write. I'm a very good reader now, but I can't quite manage to write properly. I can hardly ever join my letters, but it depends on how I feel. When people watch me I feel embarrassed and small, but, when I'm alone, I become a great artist.
Sometimes, when Aunt Giry's away, I'm left alone with my mother's housekeeper. Oh, she's a nasty piece of work! She's very unkind to me. I've often heard my aunt warning her not to touch me while she's away, but sometimes she comes into my attic bedroom to collect the laundry or remove the dirty bedclothes. I'm very frightened of her. I don't know why, but every time I see her I begin to tremble. Maybe she did something cruel to me long ago that I can't remember. She never speaks to me when she enters my room, but I know she's aware that I'm scared of her. She always smirks at me when she sees that I'm trembling, and sometimes she makes a sudden movement towards me and laughs when she sees me jump. Sometimes, when there's another servant up in the attic with her, they laugh at me behind my back and make jokes about the way I walk and talk. I limp slightly and have a strange, unpredictable voice, which can be low or high pitched depending on my mood. I'm sure she comes up to my attic for the express purpose of making fun of me. I always complain to my aunt about her, and ask her if I really do walk and talk in the wrong way, but she just laughs and smiles and cuddles me and says she doesn't care. I think she really loves me!