White Roses

Disclaimer: In sleep he sang to me ... In dreams he came and gave me the rights to this ... Note the use of the word 'dreams', What's really sad is that technically I should be putting a disclaimer to the disclaimer noting that the first part is not mine, either. Sad, eh?

Unrequited Love

Because I love you! I love you! I love you ...

The words seemed to echo torturously around the dressing room. Antoinette found herself completely unable to move; the only thing she could do was to stare at Erik, who had raised a hand to his mouth in horror, apparently regretting his outburst. She watched as he let out a string of curses under his breath but still could only bring herself to do just that - watch. Erik seemed even more infuriated by her lack of response and took a deep breath, preparing to launch into another rant. But before he could say anything, she suddenly found her tongue.

"Erik, I - what did you say?"

Antoinette watched Erik's unmasked cheek flush an even deeper shade of scarlet as he spat out his answer. "You heard me, Antoinette. God forbid I should repeat myself."

"Is it true?"

"Antoinette, why should I tell you? It matters not whether I answer yes or no - you would not have me either way!"

"Erik -"

All of Antoinette's emotions rushed around her head. He loves me? Her own heart went out to the boy - she knew that the truth from her would sound like a rejection to him. All she could manage was to stutter his name every now and then as thoughts that did not even make sense struggled inside her, each longing to come bursting out of her mouth. Antoinette watched as Erik picked up the forgotten garments and with a shaking hand, began to trace the detail on the dress, just as Antoinette had done mere minutes ago. His shoulders heaved and Antoinette knew that the dress would soon be tearstained.

"Erik, please don't," Antoinette murmured.

"Leave me alone, Antoinette," came the reply. "You do not want me."

"That's not true."

Erik lifted his head, hope glimmering in his eyes. "It is not?"

"No, Erik," Antoinette said, reaching for her handkerchief from the vanity. "I would swear on all that is holy that I would never abandon you."

His face fell again. Sighing sadly, Antoinette moved over to him and hesitantly tried to wipe away the tears gleaming on his left cheek but was instantly pushed backward by Erik. He dropped the garments again and snatched the handkerchief from Antoinette. He was about to raise it to his face when he noticed the hand-embroidered initials on it. Stitched in pink against the white cotton, they were difficult to miss: "A.G." Erik looked at Antoinette in confusion.

"Who is this?" he asked. "'A.G.'?"

"Oh," Antoinette said, looking flustered and quickly grabbing the handkerchief back. "It is nobody."

"Really," Erik said, cynically. "It strikes me as odd that one would embroider such random letters with no meaning."

Antoinette bit her lip, tracing the letters with her thumb. "It is not your concern, Erik."

"I think that you will find it most certainly is."

"Fine!" Antoinette half-yelled. "It's me! Are you happy?"

Erik frowned. "But are your initials not 'A.B.'?"

Antoinette winced, knowing what was coming. "Yes, Erik, they are."

"Then why is there a ..." Erik trailed off, comprehension dawning on his face, only to be quickly replaced by a look of contempt. "Oh. Antoinette Giry. How charming."

Antoinette blushed furiously. "Erik, please do not read into it like that."

"How can I not?" Erik replied, seemingly near tears again. "Antoinette - I love you."

Antoinette found herself near tears again; the sight of Erik, one of her dearest friends, in this state was heart-wrenching for her. He was still staring at her, those amber eyes probing her, begging for a response.

"Erik, I think of you like a dear brother -" she began, but was quickly cut off.

"A brother?" Erik appeared to take the comment as an insult. "That is all?"

Antoinette frowned. "Erik, I know you are upset, but really you must not -"

"I must not what?" Erik asked, the old anger returning. "I bare my soul to you and all I get in return is a dismissal?"

Antoinette, finally rendered speechless, simply watched as Erik walked over to the vanity and snatched the bunch of white roses on it, tossing the vase to the floor, its china shards flying across the floorboards. Antoinette had kept every rose that Erik had given her in that vase.

"You don't want these."

With that, Erik stormed out of the room, leaving Antoinette alone in her confusion.

x-x-x-x

Erik ran through the back passages of the opera house, not caring if he knocked anything. His left hand clutched the roses tightly, their small thorns digging into his flesh, but he didn't care. All Erik wanted was to get away.

It was not until he collapsed over the pipe organ that Erik managed to think. He glanced down at the flowers and, scowling, tossed them aside unceremoniously. He leant forwards onto his elbows, the resultant discordant noise from the organ reverberating around the lair. Erik buried his face in his hands, but scowled deeper still as his right hand brushed against the leather of the mask. Snorting, he ripped it off and tossed it aside with the roses, but it did no good. Resting his deformed cheek on his hand only resulted in him drawing the hand back in disgust upon feeling the disfiguring lumps and twisted flesh. Turning away from the pipe organ, Erik instead rested his head on his knees and seethed in silence.

Why? he demanded, torturing himself with the thought. Why does she not love me? Erik simply did not understand. He had been kind to her, had he not? Given her beautiful presents? But still she insisted that she felt nothing more than amicable friendship for him? And that Giry boy ... Erik ran his fingers through his unkempt hair in frustration. What does he have that I do not? Erik could answer that easily. He is handsome - he does not have this hellish face! Just to torture himself, Erik waded out into the frigid lake and simply stared at his marred reflection. He did not know how long he stood, only noticing after a time that his fingers were turning blue with cold. Sighing irritably, he waded back to dry land and sat back down at the pipe organ.

No, Erik thought, after a time, Antoinette is not the type to be swayed by a pretty face. It was true. Had she not told him time and time again how true beauty was invisible? That admiration should be earned? Erik pondered this for a moment, and grinned as he reached a conclusion. I don't need to show Antoinette love through gifts, he thought. Rather, by showing her what happens if she will not accept me ... That is passion.

x-x-x-x

Antoinette stepped out of her dressing room, but with hardly the same enthusiasm as she had the previous night. It sickened her to think that the reason she was in this position was due to a twisted plan of Erik's. It sickened her to think that she was here through cruel pranks and blackmail and not her own merit as a ballerina. It's not real, she thought.

Nevertheless, she made her way to the backstage area once again to begin her warm up routine with the rest of the corps de ballet. She went through the motions automatically, hardly paying attention to the chattering of the other girls or of the stagehands rushing by to set up the props onstage.

Suddenly a loud crash and a yell cut through the air, jolting Antoinette to her senses. This was not, however, a piercing shriek from an overexcited ballet rat - this was a cry of terror. She jumped to her feet as the sound of heavy footsteps and heavy breathing drew nearer. From out behind the scenery came Joseph Buquet, a young stagehand at opera house. He was panting and his eyes were wild. Isabelle gasped and ran from the barre to comfort him.

"For goodness sake, what is the matter?" Madame Leblanc asked in annoyance.

"It - It was horrible!" Joseph managed to splutter.

The wheels were already turning in Antoinette's head. No, Erik, she thought. Tell me you didn't! Unfortunately, the tale Joseph recounted only confirmed Antoinette's suspicions. Apparently he had been up in the flies when he thought he heard a voice calling his name. As he turned to look, standing in the shadows, he thought he saw a cloaked figure. Curiosity getting the better of him, Joseph had approached the figure, but before he had taken two steps, a massive weight had dropped from above, smashing a great hole in the flies - right where he would have been had he taken another step - and landing heavily on the stage. Joseph told of how the figure had effortlessly leapt over the hole and advanced on him, his face still hidden in shadow. It had withdrawn a piece of rope and Joseph had tried to run when he realised that it was a noose. The figure had lazily tossed the rope around Joseph's neck, halting the stagehand immediately. The figure had walked up to him and whispered something in his ear, then finally unveiled his face.

Antoinette clenched her fists as Joseph described the deformity and the other ballet rats squealed and pretended to faint. Erik, she thought, now you have gone too far.

x-x-x-x

Erik waited in the catacombs. Soon enough the bell began to ring and smirking, he began to pole the gondola across the lake. He had been confronted by an angry Antoinette before, but she was not angry this time. This time she was livid.

"Antoinette," Erik said, calmly. "So nice of you to drop by. I trust that Buquet has detailed our little encounter to you?"

Antoinette maintained a stony silence, simply glaring. Erik shrugged.

"You know that there are more things I can do," Erik said, turning back to the boat. "It can stop any time you like."

Grinning now, he turned back to Antoinette. "Fear can turn to love, I suppose."

"What utter rubbish," Antoinette scoffed, before grabbing Erik's shoulder. "Erik, you must understand! I cannot control who you or I love! Erik -"

Antoinette wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before pulling Erik into a tight embrace and sobbing into his shoulder. Erik stood still for a moment, but then hesitantly wrapped his thin arms around the distraught girl, returning the embrace.

"Erik, I am so sorry," Antoinette said, beginning to hiccough through her tears. "I am sorry - but I just cannot love you. It is not your fault, nor mine, it just ... is, I suppose."

Breaking away, Erik nodded. Antoinette dropped her eyes to her feet, still clad in ballet slippers. The silent exchange was uncomfortable and neither spoke for several minutes. Finally, Antoinette cleared her throat.

"I should go," she said.

Erik, still unable to speak, simply nodded again. With a last, pitiful glance at him, Antoinette began to make her way back up the staircase.

Reviwer replies!

Greatest, yes, he said it! Antoinette might just need a kick in the head so she can come to her senses :rolls eyes:

tink8812, I agree! Guys, take note. And thank you so much - I'm flattered.

Antoinette's Ghost, thanks! I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long ...

Mortal Phantom, aw, thank you!

HPROXMYSOX, oh, yeah - I've always hated cliffies ... until i had a chance to write one!

Gracie:sighs: I suppose you're right ... at least he said it ;)

Erik's Music Of The Night, that's why they invented the phrase "stay tuned"! So ... do so!

Celestia Memora:nods: Erik probably really hates blonde, rich guys now ...

Meluvian Indil, of course there was more than meets the eye ;) At least, according to me and my phic.

Minerva's Phantom, wow! That's dedication - hope you didn't have to get up early that day ;)