Hi everyone. Back with more Erik.My deepest gratitude to everyone who reviewed my work so far.
Sbkar: I'd like to apologize for my first post, due to my sleep addled brain, I failed to clarify the height issue.Reading back the chapter, I noticed, indeed, that there's an unrealistic reference to his height, Erik's 6'4 by the time he's in his mid-thirties in this story, so I re-edited the physical description bit shot through the caravan master's eyes and the scene where Erik observes his reflection.Thank you for pointing that out.As for the redemption part, even the Devil can be redeemed in my opinion. But that's the whole twist isn't it? One can be a puppet master and have their strings pulled, and vice versa, it's the whole dragon swallowing its own tail thing, the pain of conflict. That's my opinion anyways. Opera Populaire is Erik's territory, correct, but it's not his world until Christine comes into the picture.I hope this should clarifythings a bit more for you.
"The mind is it's own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, and a Hell of Heaven"
-John Milton, Paradise Lost
Erik tore off his cape and waistcoat with a savage jerk, hurling the black garments to the ground with impotent rage.
"Damn you Gustav! Damn you!" He hissed, pacing across the room restlessly towards the pipe organ.
"This is absurd! Sheer madness! Angel of Music! Angel…"
You have been many things, why not now an angel?
Erik stilled, ear pricked up to the faint whisper, the softly flowing like Ambrosia through his veins. Hawklike grey gaze scanned the dimly lit cavern, searching the darkness, but the owner of the mysterious voice could not be detected, not even by his keen awareness.
In fact, the voice seemed to be coming from every direction and none.
Why so silent, Erik? Breathed the disembodied voice, sensually, teasingly.
"Who are you! Show yourself this instant! Or I swear, when I find you-and I will find you, I shall extract a thousand screams from your intruding lips!"
Such rage…Such fury… The voice said, its soft timbre growing stronger, becoming more solid…tangible.
I am no intruder. I have always been with you, since the day you were born, Erik. Or should I say, Count Dragutinovich? A mocking tone stained with a smirk.
A twisted frown upon sculpted lips, rage crackling like blue-white lightning within the eyes of ancient grey.
The Angel of Music, Erik… think of it…
The tall, broad frame slumped into a nearby chair, long legs spread, pale hands scrubbing back through the hair of ebony roughly, simply for some kind of physical release from the tension of this insanity.
"I can't be an angel." A quiet murmur with a touch of tightness, Pain threatening to break through the mortal shell.
You can pretend. Remember, the devil was once an angel too…The haunting voice echoed all around him again.
Frustrated beyond coherent thought, the dark haired head snapped up, teeth bared, snarling into the dimly lit, seemingly empty cavern, and the glassy lake beyond.
"Why should I! I'm expected to be a baby sitter to a stupid, snivelling child! I have no desire to go through with this idiocy!"
Yes you do. You're a hypocrite, Erik. In your arrogance, you punish the judgemental souls for the sins which are also yours. You scoff at the lesser life for indulging in temporal power and luxury, while you wallow in it. You blame the pitiful cattle for your misery, while it is by your hand that you condemn yourself into this Stygian prison like a leashed dog!
The voice was vibrating with unmistakable authority now, rising with passion.
With a scream that could have split the heavens asunder, Erik leapt from the chair, hands grasped the white half-mask, tore it off savagely, flinging it to the ground.
Black Hessian booted foot kicked the masque towards the shadows invoked by a foul, unknown source.
"You dare judge me! How can I function in their world with a face like this! I am the origin of their monster legend, their Phantom! Tell me, is this a human's face? SPEAK!"
The ethereal, masculine melody resonated with a grey-cast smile indulgently like one would to a child that was asking a hundred questions about why the sky is blue.
Your face is as it should be. Do not underestimate the Charon's Masque. But you delude yourself into thinking that your face is an obstacle in your path to glory.
Erik snorted and tugged at his black leather gloves, removing them smoothly. They joined the discarded clothes lying in a rumpled heap in a corner.
"You speak in tiresome riddles, unless you have something better than wasting my time, you might as well return whence you came, O dark and ancient one." A mocking sneer spread across sensually brooding lips.
Such gall! Who will remember you, once you are dead, your body lowered into the black earth as a feast for the maggots? Who will remember your name, your zeal, your passion?
Your music?
Somewhat disturbed by this revelation he had never bothered to contemplate, Erik's frustration and bitterness rose with a crimson tide. He slowed his breathing…restrained emotions with a controlled calm. Icily so.
"Antoinette…" He began…
And once she's dead?
Silence.
Impenetrable.
A lengthy pause that seemed to stretch beyond the borders of sanity.
You are meant to endure the ravages of time, Erik. You were made to leave your mark upon humanity and eternity! You were born to walk as God among men! But you so desperately hold onto self-pity, self-destruction!
"As God? What nonsense is this? I'd rather burn in Hell than pretend to be a falsely benign deity!"
No Erik. As a Reaper! With your music as your scythe, to harvest the souls of the weak and deliver the strong to a realm where all passions are freed, all desires set loose, all fantasies undone, to be shaped and re-created to your whim! It's your birthright!
Only through music, Erik.
Your music.
Senses overloaded with an unnamed symphony, steely muscles tensed with the electrique sense of imminent violence in the air, grey eyes glowing with a bright blue fire, adding to the constant innate threat their master exuded with every motion.
Every sound.
Every single breath.
"Shut up!"
Shadows crept in from the edges of the cavern, amorphous tentacles lashed and darkness obscured the ceiling. The feeble candlelight shivered.
The voice heightened to a perfect baritone pitch.
Immortal is your music! But don't underestimate the light, it's a useful tool to banish their fear, so the world can see your music, breathe and cry with it, bleed in joy and frenzy with it, and sing praises in your name, fall on their dirtied knees and worship you like the obedientthralls they are!
Only then, can your music be alive!
Erik panted, he removed his sweat-drenched white shirt without undoing the buttons first, ripping it open, letting the buttons clatter to the ground.
He braced his booted feet, worried that the Primordial Abyss would seize him completely.
Angel of Music you shall be.
Scarlet flames engulfed Erik's voice as it rose in an anguished groan.
"Why…WHY! It's nothing but a make-believe! Why should I suffer so Christine can have her Angel?"
Because grand rewards require grand sacrifice.
Look at me, Erik! The serpentine voice commanded.
Black strands of wet hair whipped about Erik's face, as he turned to look into the mirror, unable to defy the beckoning.
Who are you, Erik? The voice demanded.
"A freak, and a madman!"
A genius.
"The Devil's Get!"
The Angel of Music.
"A slave!"
A master.
Lightning blue eyes grew wide.
"NO! No…"
Stop snivelling and pull yourself together!
You are perfect, Erik. Can't you see?
"No man's perfect…"
You are not a man, Erik, you are the ultimate form of perfection archangels strive to achieve!
Now, look at me, and see yourself for what you truly are!
Face turned to the mirror once more, horrid, deformed half screaming with a thousand atrocities garnered from the depths of Erik's hatred and pain.
Perfectly complementing the heartbreakingly, breathtakingly, darkly beautiful other half.
The face of Adonis Triumphant.
The face of Euronymous enthroned.
It was perfection in a paradoxical harmony.
A divine tragedy.
Now answer me! Who are you, Erik?
"I am.."
Say it!
"No…"
SAY IT!
The hand clenched into a tight fist, smashing through the mirror, sending shards flying everywhere, Erik's voice was a shattering explosion to the abyssal crescendo.
"I AM GOD, AND I AM NOTHING!"
I hope this sheds a bit of light on the depths of Erik's maddened pain.
