So, I decided I needed to write a Phantom er.."phanfic". I've never done one before, so please show mercy to me if it sucks. Let me know if I should continue as well please.
I don't own Phantom of the Opera. If you like the story, then I'm sure you know who does. Just so you know who to picture, this is based on Gerard Butler's Phantom, not the creepy fellow in that ancient(20's?) movie! I really need to read the book however so I know when I'm writing something that didn't happen, or would not happen. /embarassed smile/ Anyway, please. Let me know your thoughts, and enjoy! Or not. /nervous chuckle/
By the way, this is just a short chapter, what one might call an introduction of sorts.
The Pain Below
It pained Erik greatly as from a hidden passage way the only home he had ever truly known it was torn apart, and ravaged by the angry mob.
The pain he endured this night at the loss of the only other soul he had ever loved was not enough he supposed to make up for the pain he no doubt caused to many others who were there to witness the horror of his accursed face.
Karma was indeed unkind to him. The tears were still fresh upon his unmasked face as he stood there silently in the shadowed passage. Never before had he endured such great pain, not even at his own mothers rejection, and denial of him.
He truly must be the devils child he thought to himself, to warrant the rejection of the only soul in the world who should have loved him unconditionally. All feared to look upon him until even he feared to be seen by others.
A mirror hid him from the crazed mob who had only moments before hung the only friend he had ever known through his long lonely years. Ayisha: his Siamese cat; with a lasso created by his own two hands, proclaiming her a spawn of the devil.
Fresh tears began anew for the loss of another, a dear friend, a loved one.
He has no sense of how long he remained hidden away from the mob, but when finally he emerged his home lay in ruins. First he sadly made his way through the rubble of his few possessions to the lifeless feline.
Still hung from his noose, her eyes open, the expression of terror she must have felt at the hands of the cruel mob frozen there in her eyes. Loosening the noose, he took her gently into his arms, releasing all the emotion he felt into her now cold fur.
He cried a heartfelt apology to her for not remembering her presence in the lair, having been so wrapped up in his own heartache as he fled. Also for not rescuing her, he knew it would have proven fruitless, and both would have died, but still he felt immeasurable guilt for having not tried.
No longer able to bear the sight of her normally clear blue eyes, now foggy, dimmed forever, glazed over by the cruel icy grip of death he placed her body on a scrap of wood from a broken and splintered table, he had carved himself years before.
He then retrieved a broken, half spilled bottle of his finest wine from an overturned cabinet nearby. This he poured over the still body of his dear friend, and setting the wood on the still cold water, he set fire to her. A funeral tradition he had observed in his life's travels.
He turned silently from the flames, tears falling freely down his cheeks. The remainder of his night was spent surveying the damage to his belongings. Little was salvageable save his beloved organ, and the swan bed that had been Christine's.
They had even destroyed his deep rich brown colored coffin. Had they no pity? Could they not have left him that one small thing, could they have not left him his final resting place?
Now it would have to be her bed, for surely he would need one. He knew that he would die, die of love, love for her.
His heart ached within his chest, an ache like he had never before had the misfortune to feel. It was stifling, choking for him. He had to force himself to breath often as he lay there, still and silent on the crumpled sheets of a bed she had often slept in, wishing for nothing but death to come swiftly.
"Please." He cried into the darkness around him, his normally heavenly voice but a choked whisper of his emotion now.
But death would not come, not then. Whatever deity holds sway over the world, over our lives refused to take pity on this broken soul. He was destined for more.