Hi guys, I'd like to apologise PROFUSELY for my horrid mistake, even though I've seen the movie 5 times, I've still got the dates wrong! I can't believe I set the story around the time of French revolution…Gah! slaps forehead That's what happens when you write at 2 am lusting desperately for caffeine. It's still not an excuse, so I corrected the dates as soon as I realized mt mistake! Must read Leroux's novel, for sure.I would like to also tell you guys that supernatural element will play a fair part, but I'd like to clarify one point; Erik is not a vampire or any sort of immortal or undead. There are no crossovers, he's still mortal, and he still bleeds.Oh, bleed he shall indeed! Please bear with me, I promise to deliver you a good story. Thank you all again for your patience and kind reviews.
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, the book(s), musical and movie. I do, however, wouldn't mind owning Gerard Butler.
"God," a Hassidic master remarked, "did not say that 'it was good' , after creating man; this indicates that while the cattle and everything else were finished after being created, man was not finished."
-Erich Fromm, "You Shall Be As Gods"
She descended into the underground cavern, its darkness opaque, absolute, suffocating. Antoinette set the lantern on a rock and gathered the candelabrums, fitting them with the thick white candles she had brought with her, along with other things necessary for Erik's survival. Candles ignited, banishing the shadows to the far corners of the enormous cavern with their benevolent radiance.
She found him lying on the hard stone floor, eyes turned heavenward, and unmoving, stark silent, one pale hand rested on a solid dark object which revealed to be a violin upon closer inspection.
"Erik?" She asked, her voice touched with concern.
He turned his head slightly to see Antoinette, dressed conservatively and simply in a plain dark green taffeta dress.
"What are you doing?" A low whisper, as though afraid to breach the tranquil silence.
"Listening." Voice like dark velvet, also a whisper.
"Listening to what exactly?" Confusion creeping into her voice now…
"It's coming from up there." He pointed to the ceiling, casually, other hand still resting on the violin, grasping it lovingly.
Antoinette Giry blinked, not quite understanding. Then realization dawned, and she regarded him with a new found sense of enlightenment.
"They're running the rehearsals for Samson and Delilah" she said absently.
Erik said nothing, his ears perked to the faint sound of the Bacchanale echoing ethereally around him, coiling inside his mind. With a languid stretch, he rose, regarding Antoinette with a mild curiosity. Why so silent mademoiselle…
"How… can you hear the music? We're several levels below the Opera House…" She asked finally, and realized she had been holding her breath.
The opera music ceased, faded and dissolved into another melody that equally delighted him. Ah…The sound of Fear. Sweet, intoxicating, deeply addictive…
He had no desire to scare his new-found friend however. His only friend.
"I should daresay my hearing is a trifle sharper than common men."
The ballerina nodded, taking his words at their value, not pressing the subject. Gloved hands gestured to the packages wrapped in paper, and a basket of food and apple cider.
"I brought you something to eat, as well as a few garments, whatever I could sneak from the costume department."
Erik's dark brow arched. "You stole for me?"
"No, the ones I chose were from the pile that has been gathering dust for ages. No one's been using them. They might be a size too small for you I'm afraid, they will probably need some alterations."
"You are kind to me. Why?"
Taken aback by his sudden question, she looked at him, trying to understand the pain of his humiliation and loneliness.
"I saw you suffer…" she began.
"You also saw me murder." He cut in smoothly.
Antoinette stared into eyes of haunting grey, glinting with a primal energy.
"You had no choice."
Erik nodded slightly, not pressing the point. My dear Antoinette…is that a tremble I hear in your voice?
She shifted her gaze to the battered old violin still clutched in his hand.
"You play?" She asked, trying to escape from the terrible lapse of silence.
"A little." A tiny sparkle of amusement within his eyes.
Antoinette glanced at the hands holding the instrument like an ardent lover. Slender, masculine, flawlessly formed hands of a musician.
"I must go. But I'll return tomorrow." She said, preparing to leave.
The young ballerina headed towards one of the secret passages that ascended to the cellars of the opera house.
"Antoinette."
She froze, a shiver rippling through her body in waves of chill… The way her name rolled out of his tongue…so smoothly, with a silky softness, yet with firm authority. She turned. He spoke…with a voice coloured with mirth, quietly so.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but unless you can see in the dark, you will need your lantern."
"The backward look behind the assurance of recorded history, the backward half look over the shoulder, toward the primitive terror."
- T.S.Eliot,
Years passed by, since the fateful night of the arrival of a genius into the catacombs below the Opera Populaire.
Of the arrival of the Opera Ghost.
Besides writing ominous notes of bizarre instructions for "His" opera house, as well as demanding a regular salary – a large sum by any standards, watching from the shadows the terrified and dismayed opera cast and meddling –and eventually disappearing- stagehands, the giggling and gossiping ballet de corps simpletons, and from box five the disastrous or wondrous performances, Erik had set up his underground domain in the catacombs.
In the dark of the underground lair, his music thrived, prospered, his fantasies became reality as he composed day and night. Although shunned and ostracized by society long ago, the Opera Ghost decided his mysterious personae was indeed more rewarding than he had first anticipated.
He exulted in the pitiful humans' nervously darted glances, their hushed, frightened whispers that haunted him in return; these pathetique humans who were no better than lesser animals, especially that insufferable, temperamental wench La Carlotta and her bloated pet Piangi, who had the perfect ability to destroy a masterpiece with their croaking…and croak they did for temporal riches and fame.
Such mediocre dreams for mediocre men.
Unbeknownst to all, however-even to the Opera Ghost himself- the Fates had already begun to spin the destinies of a tortured genius, and the daughter of the Northlands.
THE BLACK METAMORPHOSIS OF A SIDESHOW FREAK
"Nemo repente fuit turpissimus." ('No one ever became thoroughly bad in one step')
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts."
-As You Like It, Act 2 Sc 7, William Shakespeare
Paris, September 1862
The underground lair, or his netherworld, as Erik referred to it, transformed into an epitome of architectural and artistique wonder. A majestique reflection of his inner darkness and the accumulated knowledge of his travels and observations, combined with the beauty of his Balkan heritage.Isolated, and most importantly, inaccessible. All entrances to the underground lair and catacombs were modified, their locks and seals replaced.
Within the inner sanctum, tall, obsidian columns rose up to the high ceiling, spacious rooms contained numerous large mirrors draped with black and deep purple velvet, oil paintings and disquieting pieces of eerie and macabre art, rich tapestries depicting various themes; medieval portrayals of armoured knights wielding great swords, battling a horde of infernal foes, some draconique and serpentine, some skeletal and ghastly, pagan motifs of pre-Christian worship of forgotten and diabolical deities, all set in a gloomy background of a raging and thunderous sky, illustrated with wine reds, maroons, burgundys, autumnal oranges, burnished gold, moss greens, greys in all shades and blacks. On a far wall of the "living room" were finely crafted weapons; a six foot halberd, a double edged bastard sword, a rapier, a battle axe, and a several other shorter blades of varying sizes, all of them viciously sharpened to give these instruments of death a lethal edge, in fact, not all of these medieval array of weaponry were meant to be exhibited as mere adornments, for rust-coloured stains clung to the steel blades like an epiphany to blood drenched glories of a bygone era. On another wall were strange masques of exotique origins, some fashioned to look like skulls and death throes, some arabesque demons and biblical monstrosities, leather and metal, porcelain and papier-Mache, which were all designed by Erik himself into gruesome or funereal images. Statuettes of ravens, gargoyles, and other bizarre creatures and mythical beasts were arranged neatly throughout the chambers. Black silk and velvet drapes ornamented the walls, massive, ceiling high bookcases covered an entire wall; crammed with leather-bound volumes, both recent and ancient, old maps, obscure manuscripts of heretical and heathen scholars banned by Vatican, books of history, masonry and architecture, poetry and philosophy…One wooden bookcase in particular was vastly dominated by rows and rows of musical texts and librettos, stacks of music history and complete works of opera. All illuminated and shadowed by dozens of candelabras holding off-white candles that gave off a faint perfume of sandalwood. Thick musky incense was burned to help keep the smell of mould and slight mustiness that lingered in the air, over all, the cavern resembled a temple, rather than a "house".
The dominant feature of the entire place, however, was the colossal pipe-organ, surrounded by tall black and white candles, adding to the gloomy and strange ambience.
The biggest transformation was the Phantom, of course. Dangerously so…From noble beginnings, through humble sufferings, to the present image and attitude of a fiendish musical genius, Erik was elegantly inhuman in every way one could think of.
A white leather half masque Erik had fashioned out of an expressionless, theatrical mask he discovered when he had first found refuge in these halls, now covered his deformity.
He had maintained his bond with Antoinette Giry, now the head ballet mistress, though they rarely conversed, their silence spoke volumes of mutual respect and understanding. One night, she had introduced him to that close friend of hers, a Swedish violinist named Gustav Daae, a bohemian, unkempt musician who escaped his misery and mourning for a dead wife through copious amounts of laudanum –Erik's suspicions of his laudanum abuse were confirmed the moment he had caught the man's fetid scent, but an honourable and trustworthy soul. Gustav had at first been shocked by Erik's masked visage and predatory aura, but soon the eccentrique swede dismissed Erik's physical ugliness, focusing on the brilliant mind underneath. Their mutual interest –Erik's obsession, more likely- in music had brought them together in an awkward companionship, as for his little daughter, Erik had never seen the girl, for his visits were always conducted in ungodly hours. Rarely did Erik leave his underworld, but when he did, it was to visit Gustav, nights spent in his company were filled with music, long philosophical debates and generous amounts of red wine.
Tonight, however, was going to be a long night.
The last night of a friendship.
A friendship Gustav had come to cherish, and Erik considered worthy of his time.
Fates had always the last laugh, as angels wept and demons wailed.
Fates were ready to hurl their unsuspecting victims into the purgatory.
Into a paradise destroyed.
By Love unrequited.
That's it for now...I know Erik's lair's described heaps more differently in this story, but it's for a reason, trust me. This is the end of PG-13 part, I think. I'm seriously debating making this story darker than I've originally planned. More tragedy, angst and madness I'm thinking here, but I'm always open to your suggestions. There -may- be a happy ending, sort of, but I'm not sure as of yet. I will update again soon, but I need your feedback, however, so don't forget to review please! I want to create a story you will enjoy, and I can't do that without your reviews:)
