Summary: A young woman awakens by the lake below the Paris Opera House with no memories at all. Naked and cold, she is rescued by the Opera Ghost. Such a rare act of kindness could only come with complicated feelings, but what are those feelings exactly?
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. None of it. Gaston Leroux is the rightful owner. I do own my OC, though.
Note! This is based on the original book "The Phantom of the Opera", not the play or movie, which have different stories.
"So
now the ghost is married!"
The first memory I have is of awakening in total darkness. The complete lack of light was the first thing I noticed, and then the freezing cold. I could feel that my whole body was covered in goosebumps; I had nothing on to protect me from the cold. Panic washed over me, sending my mind reeling. I tried to roll onto my back, but my muscles screamed in defiance. I was lying naked in complete darkness and cold, not able to move. In a spasm of terror, I lost consciousness again.
When I woke again, the cold was gone, and the darkness was not so stiffling as it had been. I was lying on a bed, wrapped in several layers of blankets. As I found out when I tried to sit up, I could still not move, but the horror that had gripped me before was gone. My mind clearer, I attempted to think of where I could possibly be. I had no memories of anything before that first moment when I awoke in darkness. I did not know who or where I was. This disturbed me. I frantically searched my memory for any trace of information that might lead me to some fragment of my life that I could hold onto, but there was nothing there. The terror I had felt before was begining to return. A flicker of movement beyond the end of the bed captured my attention. In the next moment light flooded the room. Its brilliance compared to the semi-darkness I had awoke in blinded me. A cry of pain errupted from me.
"Awake, are we?" said a voice softly. The voice was gentle, yet at the same time frightening for a reason I could not explain.
I gave a quiet moan in response. My eyes were watering from the bright light.
"Ah," said the voice. I heard footsteps as someone crossed the room to where I lay on the bed. A dark figure came into sight, shrouded in a black cape and a mask that covered his whole face. The sight of such a figure stirred something in me that I could not understand at the time. A mixure of feelings, both of elation and grief.
From within his cloak, the figure drew a small crystal vial. With one hand he lifted my head and with the other poured the contents of the vial down my throat. I coughed and sputtered, trying to spit the liquid out. Suddenly I realised that though the concoction had tasted foul, it had restored my ability to move. I turned my head to gaze at the person standing above me.
"Who... who are you?" I stammered.
The figure turned away from me. Not looking at me, his voice so quiet that I had to strain to hear him, the figure answered simply:
"Erik."