If you don't get this, this is the last chapter from ERIK'S POINT OF VIEW. Haha…Aylah. YOU FAILED LIFE! I just finished reading de book. Took me less than ten hours. Beat that…people. So I am simply filled with ideas. Not for this chapter, which you will notice. But I'd like to make my Phantom more like the one from the book, not musical. So…we shall see. Read and review! (Thanks for the reviews, they make my heart sing!)
Ridel: Christine does not exist. AU means Alternate Universe. It is the same time in history but without Christine having ever come to the Opera house. I'm sorry for not making that clear.
Erik watched as she silently exited her room and raced down the hallway. He had managed to track her movements easily and silently over the years. He knew her destination, and it did not surprise him at all. He had rather foolishly written her a note. The note didn't contain anything personal or revealing but Erik felt all the more bare having giving it to her. He just couldn't seem to stop himself from revealing his presence to this young beauty. He moved through passageways and through doors until he came upon the chapel. There was no easy way to conceal him in the small area so he waited until she had entered the building and then followed behind her. He watched as she set her candle down and then took a seat on the sill. She stared blankly off into the darkness.
Erik was moved by her piety. She seemed to have a faith which he would never be able to obtain. He longed to feel how others felt when they knelt before sculpted angels and wooden crosses. He moved forward a few inches then stopped. His presence would be felt and then this beautiful silence would be interrupted by her high pitched, terrified screams. He had often dreamed of coming to her and being able to move her with his song. Then she moved him with hers.
Although Claire sang softly, the music reached him. The song was familiar, an aria from Hannibal. She sang it with an unpracticed and innocent tone. It was a voice which he could perfect and mold into the voice of a prima donna. Erik watched her eyes slowly shut.
"Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try," she sang. His eyes also closed, taking in her eloquent voice. He pictured her on stage, her voice perfected by his teachings. Erik opened his eyes. He knew what he was going to do and couldn't stop himself. Slowly he moved forward towards her. He knew she sensed him. Erik smirked and found that he felt more at ease then he thought he would be. He began to sing. The moment his voice began hers stopped. She seemed to be taken aback by the sudden involvement of his voice. His eyes wandered her small frame, longing to reach out and touch her.
She kept her eyes closed as he cautiously moved a hand towards her bare flesh. This would be the first time he had ever touched a woman. His hands, gloved, made contact with her warm flesh. He felt her shudder underneath his touch. What thoughts could be racing through her mind? He ran his hand up her arm, treasuring this moment as if it were his last. He wished to take off his gloves, feel her skin as it was meant to be felt. He knew his cold; death touch would make her cry out in fear. Erik couldn't bear to see her in distress, especially at his hand. The song which he had been singing died on his lips as he reached the nape of her neck. To kiss flesh so white would be close to heaven. Erik, lived in hell, he longed for heaven. He brought himself closer to her, his lips grazing her ear.
"Do not open your eyes, Claire, for your eyes will only tell the truth," he whispered. He'd meant that as a warning. To open her eyes would break the illusion and end the moment. Erik knew, having said that, she would open her eyes because it was human nature to do so. He would not let her look upon him yet, lest he be caught off guard. The later was not likely. Erik removed his hand and drew away from her. The warmth her tiny body had emitted now left him. He felt as cold as death again. Drawing back into shadow he raced up the stone steps. To her it would be like he'd never even been there, a realistic dream. Erik felt a pain and entered a passage in the wall. He warned his labyrinth for what seemed like days. His mind was clouded with emotion and regret. He hadn't even begun to fully comprehend the anguish he'd brought upon himself having drawn so close to another. Erik retreated to his underground house, making sure no one spotted him. When he arrived on the other side of the underground lake he turned his attention on his music. The sound of the organ filled his lair, his home.
