Title: My Beloved Monster

Author: Bananas in Pajamas

Prologue

De profundis clamo ad te domine

(From the depths I call to Thee, Lord)

If he was known for one thing, Erik – the infamous Opera Ghost – was known for his temper. He tried to suppress it…sometimes. However, his lack of contact with the world above the Opera Populaire's fifth cellar and his lack of discipline (because of a lack of parents) did not force or help him to grow up. He was more of an overgrown spoiled child – used to getting his way, and very set in said way as well. He struggled through the awkwardness of puberty and was stumbling through his early twenties – he was twenty-three to be exact – when he, the "Devil's Child" became the "Angel of Music" to the orphaned thirteen year old Christine Daaé.

For the next eight years, he watched and listened as her voice and beauty blossomed. She too went through the awkwardness of puberty, but with the guiding hands of Madame Giry and the ballet corps, she slowly developed into a kind, if naïve, young woman. Erik had never had that support – his "guiding hands" were books that Antoinette managed to sneak to him (she didn't like school work, but Erik delighted in doing it for her). His body and parts of his mind had matured, had aged and gained wisdom as his years beneath the opera passed, but a large part of him remained the scared, nine year old boy he had been when he first set foot in the Opera Populaire.

Without a mother to kiss his scraped knees and tuck him into bed, Erik grew up lacking compassion. Without a father to teach him the difference between right and wrong, Erik aged without a direction to his life. Because he didn't have friends to run through the streets with until the stars shone brightly, Erik missed out on human companionship and physical human contact. Yes, dearest reader, Erik grew up lonely, fell in love with a young woman destined to never return his affections, and was left by this young woman in his dark, wet cave beneath the opera. However, before she left him, he forced one promise from her – that when his obituary was seen in the daily newspapers, she would return to bury him.

Two weeks later, Erik could have been found in his cavern. His skin was paler than it ever had been before; his hair – or, rather, what was left after his raging – hung in oily, limp clumps; the fire that had once resided in the emerald and amber depths had been extinguished – his spirit was beyond broken, it was shattered into a million splinters; his beautiful, musician's – and murder's – hands were cut to ribbons from breaking all the mirrors in his home by pounding on them; his clothes hung off his frame even more than usual. It is true, reader, that Erik had always been rather thin since he often forgot to eat, instead, feeding his soul on his music but his bones were usually hidden beneath thick, corded muscle gained from his many years of haunting the opera –now, however, the muscle was gone, and every breath he took was forced. I say forced because Erik believed his heart was so full of love for Christine Daaé that any movement of it, he fancied, only stirred up memories of their lessons together. He often saw memories of her clear blue eyes or her golden curls. Sometimes he saw her smiles, but what he often saw were her tears as she kissed him. She had been willing to give up her life, her happiness, and her love for the Vicomte in exchange for the lives of all those in the opera house. He could not take those from her, no matter how much he had wanted to – for if he did, then he would be the monster Meg Giry claimed him to be – and he released her.

He was past the point of no return. No amount or combination of bed rest, food, medicine, or love, would save Erik now. He had wordlessly raged through his beautiful, though eclectic, home – destroying anything his hands touched – but now, with the knowledge that he was drawing his last few breaths, Erik cried out.

"Why, God?" he sneered, "Why did You choose this body, this mind, this heart to torture? Did You enjoy my loneliness? Was my heartbreak amusing to You? Was pleasure found in the tormenting of my soul? I could have given her anything – everything! I would have climbed to the moon for her or died a thousand horrible deaths, had she asked, but you took her from me and gave her heart to that…that…that boy! All I had ever wanted was to love and be loved. You didn't even give me that. I die now because of my love for her. I heard that Satan was throwing a masked ball. It seems I shall fit in just fine – no need to worry about me. You never did."

With this being said, Erik's heart stopped beating.

God was most certainly not a happy camper after hearing Erik's words. 'Never worried about him? The delusional chap! Why did he think he had such a flair for music – because he lived under an opera? What about Antoinette? I gave him the gift and the means to use it – he ruined his own chances!' But even as the Lord was thinking this, He was reading through Erik's book, closing His eyes in sorrow as He read of the horrors that had filled that tortured soul's lifetime. He could understand, now, why Erik would say what he did. 'Perhaps,' God mused, 'I should give him some choices, maybe give him a second chance.' Snapping His fingers, God brought Erik before Him.

"Erik," His voice boomed, "I have decided to give you a set of choices. You may take as long as you want to answer, but remember, time is also passing on Earth, and you know what they say, 'A day with the Lord is as a thousand years.' Remember, there is no set fate for a person, my son. Your decision now will affect the rest of your life."

Erik, however, spit at God's feet. "And what have you done for me, monsieur?"

"Did it ever occur to you that the earth is not Erik-centric? That you are nothing more than an ant to me, scurrying around, doing nothing to help yourself while those around you work and try their hardest before asking for help? You asked for me to do everything for you, but you are a grown man, and should have tried to help yourself. Now be quiet and listen – these are your choices. You can have Christine with you forever, have the love of a woman, or you can become handsome. I suggest that you choose wisely, Erik."

Erik found himself sitting on a lone cloud. His first reaction had been to choose Christine (of course), but, God had said to have her with him, not have her love him. There was a significant difference between the two. She had been terrified of his face – he didn't want her terror or pity, he had wanted her heart. Besides, he admitted silently, she loved the Vicomte (and he her) with the same fire that Erik had loved Christine. It would be wrong to take her away from that.

He had always wanted the love of a woman…someone to hold him, stroke his hair, and whisper her love to him. But, how could a woman love a murderous monster with a face such as he owned? It could not be of her own free will. Was God actually willing to take that blessed gift from someone so that he, Erik, could have a chance at happiness? The thought was tempting, that someone would love him (of course, Erik had not known to what depths and lengths Antoinette had gone to so as to protect him). Even though he had ruthlessly murdered and executed many – at times even taking a sick delight in the power he had held over his victims – Erik sullenly and hesitantly acknowledged that he would not want his free will taken from him. This choice too, would be the wrong one. 'I suppose I'm not made for love and going out on Sundays,' Erik moaned to himself.

That left becoming handsome. True, he mused, looks aren't everything. But he knew that his music would be more accepted, should he not be so grotesque. Plus, he could rid himself of that damnable mask that had mocked him so often throughout his life. Music had always filled most of the void where a woman's love should have been – though he hadn't played or sung a note since Don Juan – and perhaps, music was all he was would need now.

He made his choice. He chose wisely.