On with the show!
Music for chapter setting: Beethovens 7th symphony: Allegretto movement
Chapter 1: A false vision and sick reality
September 20th, 1881 C.E.
Light rain fell down upon the raw cobblestone streets, though the stones were thoroughly washed from the torrential falls from earlier, the rains had settled to a lighter pace and fell from the heavens above. All the shops and townhouses surrounding the square encasing the Opera house took on cleaner appearance damp with the cleansing waters. However above the streets, far above watching carefully was a man's soul that could not be washed clean. Or at least as he thought, and never giving into the fresh feeling the droplets left upon his exposed flesh.
Erik simply leaned from the ruined structure's railing, staring down at the empty town below him. His eyes were blind to his own mind's imagination running rampant. In his mind streets were filled with people, the skies were filled with brilliant stars as the opera.. no, HIS opera filled with people eager to attend the night's performance. Which of course would star one of the most beautiful women in the world, his angel. Christine Daae was alongside him atop the roof, staring at the heavens and speaking..
"Erik?"
He shook his head and turned to her, taking in every single detail of her face and presence, cherishing it for all it was..
"Erik, did you hear what I just said?" her inquisitive face calm, but faintly twisted with a bit of impatience.
"No, I'm sorry my dear. I was.. thinking.." his eyes seemed to take focus now upon her deep blue eyes staring up at him.
The impatient look upon her face turned into a quirky smile, her eyes lighting up with a strange emotion. "I just wanted to thank you for your generation donations to our Opera, knowing that you have already contributed enough to our endeavor. Your assistance, lessons.. Everything have meant so much to me, and everyone here.."
He smiled, his thoughts running from present to future. Knowing he had spent so many years as the rich Vicomte and supporter of the small opera house, but also calling upon the young girl personally to see to her voice lessons. He still remembered the first time that he had ever heard her voice, Christine's sweet tones.
He had been sitting at a small café for an important meeting right outside the opera house, sipping carefully upon his tea. The troupe of ballet girls had been about the small square shopping for various items, following the stern figure of Madame Giry. However one girl had remained behind, looking to be only in her late teens, and not very distinct from the other slender women chattering. If only for one thing. She had been humming to herself. He had always had an ear for music, and to the surprise of the gentleman he was meeting with, he simply stood up from the meeting and walked directly to the mistress leading them. He inquired of their origins and why they were about the town. Donations, dedication, time.. everything he didn't have (he was a handsome and dedicated figure of society with little time to spare) became a reality as he shaped the very opera that was the direct attention of all of Paris now.
Most of his attentions laid upon this lone ballet dancer. Her lack of skill on the dance floor were nothing less than new to him. Most of the gaggling troupe had no skill. But she had the voice that only god could have instilled within her. He paid for her every need, lesson, even sometimes instructing her voice himself (as he was quite good with music). Why shouldn't he? He had almost 20 years of schooling in the finest of France's instituions. Declared by all three Schools to be one of the finest Architects, Musicians, and Literary masters of this time. Why yes, as handsome as he was, he had a mind to match it all. His loving mother and father had spent his childhood adoring every structure he placed together from his blocks, supported his schooling fully and even hiring tutors besides the institution to further him in his studies. Both the Vicomte and Vicomntess Ange had spent lavish amounts of time, money.. and most of all love upon their only son. Both had also given him the beauty of the muses and the sirens, both in mind, soul, and face. Erik was, indeed, breathtaking. Inheriting his mother's deep golden eyes, and his father's raven black hair. But obtaining a grin all his own to grace his porcelain smooth flesh. Indeed, being a bachelor at the age he was dangereous, risking and living in danger of every eligible female (and sometimes non-eligible females) at every party, ball, any social gathering you could possibly think of. However, his heart simply was not present. His mind wandered often to his studies or latest investment as soon as any maiden approached or was introduced to him. His friends and acquaintances had simply given up hope on the man by the passing of his 25th birthday. He also shared this ideal, until he laid eyes on that little ballerina. The childish figure that had slowly, and sadly followed the other girls that day in the streets when Erik had noticed them at his meeting. Something had stirred in his heart when he had seen her for the first time.
Suddenly he felt something very warm against his lips, a little surprised at the situation, he completely withdrew himself from his day dream reminiscence, so he could realize what exactly was happening.
Christine had closed the distance between them. The heat of her voice and her body had not been enough to draw him from his musings. So to remedy the situation, she simply had stood on her toes and reached up for a kiss.
Like any innocent girl and any first kiss, it was a simple peck on the lips from which she quickly withdrew and stood back. Her eyes reflecting a deeper, unquestionable emotion as she backed away nervously.
"Erik.. I also lead you up here to tell you that even though you have brought me to this success as the lead singer of this opera. That you have made my life so much better and .." her eyes were bright and shining with admiration and adoration.
He winced.
"I want nothing more than to let you know.."
Pain wracked his body as the reality of the cold atmosphere of reality began to come over his limbs..
"That.." her delicately gloved hand reaching up and sliding down his smooth left cheek, sending a very chill down his spine.
"God no." a horribly ragged voice erupted from a parched throat.. he recognized later as his own ringing out into the rain.
".. I love you.." her face then tilting to his as their lips eagerly reached to touch.
The cold rains continued to fall upon his flesh as the beautiful night sky decorated with bright and beautiful pin points of light, faded into the dreary grey clouds filled with rain. The hurried crowds he had earlier envisioned were dissipating and fading before his eyes. However, as he gripped the roughly carved granite of the structure, the most important vision of his elaborate creation began to fade. That beautifully curved face, sparkling blue eyes, and sweet lips parted to meet his own.
The vision then completely shattered and Erik was then tossed cruelly back into his reality.
Slamming his fists down upon the rock he ground his flesh into the structure, refusing to leave the fantasy he had spent hours on that rooftop creating. Remaining completely still for hours in that torrent had erased his memories in it's fullest. From the silence of the storm he heard an unearthly sound of agonized screams. However this sound, he noticed, was coming from his own throat. A wrenching cry of despair and agony ripped from his frame and escaped into the sky and as if hearing his plea, rain began to fall in a more violent nature. Completely bombarding every structure under it's wrath, including a lone man atop a ruined structure, blood seeping from his self inflicted wounds down the sides of the stone he gripped with emotional pain.
Standing in the bitter cold and accepting the raindrops that fell and felt like nothing less than shards of glass, he slowly brought the bitter scream to an end. Releasing his grip on he stone and pulling his haggard frame away from the edge, he turned to leave. Having only been dressed in his dress shirt and slacks, he was in no way prepared for the elements he had inflicted on himself by standing in the rain and cold for so long.
"Not like it really matters.." he murmured to himself as he slowly trudged to the door.
Suddenly he pitched forward, his foot having caught an edge of the stone, and despite his grace and strength, he could not recover before he fell. Landing completely on his face, he grunted in pain and laid there as the water continued to fall in larger drops about him. In a painful effort he forced one of his arms out from underneath him, the blood still seeping from his palms, and attempted to pull himself up. A searing agony from his raw palm stopped him from continuing the endeavor. Forcing him to lay still in the rainfall.
This was simply too much, the pain was unbearable from both his heart and body. Ever since she left, ever since the end of the Opera Populaire and the destruction of his home from the mob.. there was simply nothing left to live for. He was defeated, God had not left out his last and final blow of humiliation as he lay in a puddle of his own blood mixed with the rain falling.
His entire frame began to shake. At first he thought that his body had finally given into the cold and he was dying of hypothermia. Giving into shock, something to give into mortality! However, it was not so, as he recognized the warm liquid trailing down his cheeks. Tears. He was sobbing, his entire body convulsing in the agonized pain that held both body and mind.
"God! You wretched bastard!" he let rip from his throat. "I'm defeated! The demon lies with nothing more than to return to the very hell he created!" sobs breaking the words apart, but he continued to cry out into the stormy skies.
"You took the few things that mattered the most from me! I created some of the most beautiful creations this world has ever seen in music and buildings! You gave me so much to create! Why not to enjoy? Why couldn't I have had the few things I wanted! WHY!" His voice finally gave out, breaking the smooth tones and the cracked tones of violence. He did not stop his blasphemous cry to the heavens. With immaculate strength he sprang to his feet and shook his fist at the skies, wording with a silent cry.
A mother's love, embrace.
A beautiful woman to desire, love and love me also.
… a face that could remain in light..
With that finally said, a crack of thunder filled the sky. Louder than any he had ever heard, and at this vantage on the rooftop more then he had ever endured. With his defeated cry to the creator and no other purpose to life, he simply collapsed and awaited the angel of death to come. He smiled to himself thinking, "If I cannot be the Angel of Music, if my own Angel leaves and betrays me, then I can always count upon the winged Death to collect my evil soul".
As the storm continued on in it's intensity, the golden orbs slid close for the last time.
There is a circle of hell that Dante unfortunately left out. It's meant for cliff-hanger writers that do well in their art of suspense, and are too busy to update every day. But I hope to obtain salvation from this circle, no worries! I'll update as often as I possibly can! Promise!