VIII. Turn around and face your Fate
The voice cut through the silence like a razorblade. "So we meet again at last, pretty Erik. Such a pity you are currently hiding so much of that lovely face. But then again, black suits you."
The Phantom froze. Had he truly not noticed that Niobe was approaching? He should have felt her. He should have realized she was coming. The fact that he had not was a mistake he would not forgive himself later on.
Especially if that mistake was going to cost him another life of one of his men.
Loosening the girls' grip on him, he rose to his feet. All he wanted was remain where he had been, kneeling there with his face half buried in Christine's hair, inhaling her scent with every breath, while Meg was soothingly caressing his back. But there was no time for that now. Not with Niobe there.
Did it really have to be now? After his encounter with Adhemar and then his experience with Hulot, he felt exhausted, and all he truly wished for was a moment of rest. Was he really fit to face Niobe in his current state? And, he thought with some concern, were the others?
Well, if he wasn't, he would make her regret it. He would make her suffer for it!
This was so illogical that he almost laughed out loud with bitterness. If he wasn't fit to face her now, there might be no later on, perhaps.
Niobe was standing there at the side entrance to his lair, just standing there and smiling, while Raoul and Xavier, who had followed Adhemar, backed away from her. Her long black hair flowed around her shoulders like a natural cloak, and once again her clothing seemed to reveal more than one would expect it to. Only this time she was in a man's clothes, in shirt and trousers just like the three young women who had accompanied the Phantom. Yet he suspected that those had been made specially for her, not only because of the gold embroidery on the black fabric which suspiciously looked like silk, even at that distance, but mainly from the way they hugged her figure. Yes, they probably were hers, because when he looked at Meg, for instance, it was rather obvious that those clothes were not her own. The shirt, a perfect, if rather tight fit on himself, was clearly too wide in the shoulders, yet too tight in the chest, and the sleeves were just too long, as were the trousers. And he wondered how she managed to walk in boots several sizes too large for her. At least Christine had put on boots belonging to Meg's late father, who had possessed rather smaller feet, but Meg had insisted on wearing the Phantom's boots, even though she practically fell out of them probably. Of course, Niobe did not have that problem. Those knee-high boots of what seemed to be soft leather certainly had been made for her as well.
Meg muttered a curse which would have made her mother box her ears quite fiercely, unsheathing the Phantom's sabre once more as she stood. For a moment he considered taking it from her, since it would have been useful against Adhemar already, but then he left it to her. If he could not finish Niobe with his mental powers, he could not finish her at all.
But no. There was a different way. They had discussed it, and it would be easier, yet it brought different risks with it.
And for now, the decision was out of his hands. It was someone else who would have to decide, someone he did not exactly like to leave important decisions to. But who took the risk upon himself was to have the choice. It was only fair.
Christine had gotten to her feet, too, clutching one of the Phantom's daggers as well as that he had taken from a gypsy the day before. Hell be damned, she was so beautiful, all in black and with her soft dark curls in disarray, her features grim, and carrying those weapons, her head held high in defiance, just like an Amazon queen. Curse his non-existent soul, but he could have looked at her forever.
Yet what was happening before him demanded his attention. By now, Adhemar had reached Niobe on his aimless wanderings, and she had obviously noticed that there was something seriously wrong with him, for she suddenly stepped forward and took his chin in her hand, regarding him closely, with a strange kind of morbid fascination. Himself drawn by darkness and death, the Phantom still felt a passing wave of sickness at her expression. Adhemar let it happen; he did not have the will to do anything anymore. Then Niobe's expression changed to a dark frown, her elegant eyebrows sharp lines leading down to the base of her nose – and then Adhemar crumpled in a heap before her. Regarding who had once been her companion for a moment, she then stepped over the fallen body without another glance at him, as if nothing had happened.
At the Phantom's side, Christine winced. She, too, knew that Adhemar was truly dead now.
And to think he had been Niobe's lover once…
By now Xavier had reached them, and he bent to pick up the dagger the Phantom had left lying beside Hulot's motionless form, the one Adhemar had carried. "What do we do?" he muttered anxiously, his boyish face filled with doubt and worry.
Just as if he had heard the question, Raoul, who was a little ahead still, turned and sought the Phantom's gaze, a question in his eyes. The Phantom nodded in reply, though with doubts in his heart, especially after he had witnessed how Niobe had just dealt with Adhemar as she had realized he had become useless. But the boy had insisted earlier on, and it was the best plan they had, if they had any at all. A dangerous gambit, but there was only one other option, and the Phantom did not feel fit for it now. Not at the moment.
Was he truly worrying about the young fool? With some irritation, the Phantom found that he was. Why did he feel responsible for the vicomte as well? That sad joke of a little ape did not belong to the Opera Populaire, not in the way the others did. True, his loss would grieve Christine greatly, but the Phantom would be rid of him, then, and he would not even have gotten rid of him himself. He would not be the one to blame. Yet still…
It was just that he was too proud to lose anyone to Niobe. He was too proud to accept her involuntary assistance in the affairs of his heart, that was all.
But all the same…
No, no more but. The boy would play his part, and himself he would do what he had to, and that was all there was to think about.
And after all, it had been the boy's choice, and the boy had made it. With every choice, a man had to be ready to face the consequences.
At a lazy saunter, Niobe entered the lair at last. "What you have learned since we last met honours you, my lovely boy. But it's time to play now, don't you agree?" The smile she wore was a twisted one which did not reach her eyes. "I assume those are your followers. A nice lot of servants, judging from the fact that you are hated and feared here. But you are perfectly right, sweetheart; servants who fear you are the best servants."
The Phantom met her gaze across the distance. "They did not come for fear," he said quietly.
Niobe's laughter was bright and cold, like a spring high up in the mountains. "Why else, then? Because they love you? Yes, once your servants loved you, a long time ago. But times have changed since then. Who would ever love you anymore, Erik? What woman would now let you play your favourite little game?" Mustering his stage model on the table, she halted briefly, then continued, her gaze already flickering to Raoul once or twice as the boy stood facing her beside the few steps up to the organ. "Nobody will, my little Don Juan. I have seen you on that night at the Opera. Nice try, I might say. But did you truly think you would succeed?" Her fathomless dark eyes wandered over to Christine, and her smile broadened, cold and mocking. "Though I assume having her stand at a mere two feet from you can be seen as a kind of success."
"You hold your tongue about her," the Phantom snarled. And don't you even think of touching her, he wanted to add, yet he bit it back. He did not want to give her ideas.
Again Niobe laughed, but this time she was already eyeing Raoul up and down. "The offer still stands, pretty Erik: You surrender to me and give yourself to me completely, and in return I will keep Créon from you." She gave the boy a frown before she added, "That's all you want, isn't it?"
"There are more important things than having a woman in my bed," the Phantom replied coldly. "And I do not need you to protect me from Créon."
"Hear, hear! Growing bold, are we? The last time we met, you were not quite so brave." Again Niobe's smile was mocking, and the Phantom wished he could just jump at her and knock it cleanly off her face. "But you are a defiant lad, and this is the way I like them. Oh, and by the way: We are talking about my bed here, my dove, not yours."
"But I would like to accept that offer." Raoul's clear voice rang out through the cavity, echoing faintly off the rock walls. He was standing bolt upright, and still carrying his unsheathed sabre, one hand resting on the hilt nonchalantly as if it were a walking stick. Though reluctantly, the Phantom had to admit to himself that the silly boy was doing well.
Beside him, Christine winced, and the Phantom felt the sudden hurt clearly at the back of his mind. Of course, the girl was not prepared for this. He reached out towards her soothingly, briefly caressing her awareness. Don't worry. It's alright.
She turned her head to look at him, her lovely dark eyes wide, and her message arrived in his head as easily as if she had spoken it aloud. Is this part of a plan?
You will see. Reaching out physically this time, he meant to stroke her arm, but she pulled away, her eyes fixed on her foolish young fiancé.
He suppressed a sigh. How could one be so obsessive about that ridiculous little fop?
Niobe was mustering Raoul like one might eye a horse he was going to buy. "Would you, now? Well, my sweet… you would certainly make a nice plaything, and you have lovely hair to stroke, though you are not quite my taste." She slowly walked around him, eyeing him from every direction, and Raoul kept still, though he slightly shuffled his feet. Lovely hair? What an odd taste! "Erik, now," Niobe continued, starting her second circuit, "Erik is more to my liking. Darker, more virile, and with a most enjoyable air of defiance. But you can still develop, of course." Probably indignant, Raoul tried to draw himself up even more, but jumped in a most undignified way when Niobe slapped his backside. "Créon wants you dead, I might add, so owning you might become thoroughly enjoyable."
Christine muttered an insult Madame Giry would surely not have appreciated, though she would probably have agreed whole-heartedly.
Watching Niobe warily, the Phantom still could not quite suppress a grin. Yes, he definitely felt more virile than the boy.
Was she going for the bait? Would she swallow it?
Touching Christine's shoulder, he gestured to her to remain where she was, then approached Niobe carefully. When the time to strike came, he would need to be close enough. His wet boots made odd little squeaking noises, he noted with some annoyance, though they could be more or less silenced by only walking over the carpets.
Meg was coming after him, he realized. Without turning, he made a sharp gesture to her to remain behind, yet she refused to obey. Curse the foolhardy little girl! He had plainly told them to obey his every command, had he not? Who did she think she was? Claire Giry's daughter, yes, and one of very few women who had had the honour of kissing him, as well as that of sleeping in the same bed with him, but that did not entitle her to anything, damn her!
Raising her head from her inspection of Raoul, Niobe spared a glance for the Phantom, and their eyes met. When the Phantom saw swirling mists this time, he knew what it meant, and he knew that Niobe was seeing the same when looking into his eyes. He was growing exhausted from upholding the shield on himself for so long, and he feared his control might slip any moment now, but until he was finished here, he would have to keep it up. There was no other choice.
And he would, he thought grimly. He would not fail once more today.
"I'm not that easy to kill," Raoul said, drawing Niobe's attention to him once again.
She laughed, and this time she even seemed amused. "So you think, duckling. But you forget that you're merely human. However, I'm going to keep you nonetheless."
Christine growled under her breath. Already several steps before her, the Phantom was tried hard not to turn around and ask her to repeat the noise; it had been such a sweet little sound. Instead, he allowed his fingers to clench around the hilt of his sheathed dagger. Once he saw his chance, he had to be quick. Much depended on how fast he reacted; he could not be distracted now.
But he could always ponder sweet little Christine noises when he was through with Niobe. There was a rather delightful squeak, too, and the way she giggled, and…
No, this was not the time. Not as long as Niobe still breathed.
He could feel the others' unease behind him, mingled with other feelings – mainly grief for unfortunate Hulot – but he ignored them for now. As long as he was between them and Niobe, there was nothing they had to fear. At least he hoped so.
It was Meg who bothered him. The foolish girl would continue running after him even if he put her in chains. As he slowly approached Niobe a little further now, she came with him as well.
He would need to have a stern word with her later on. Curse her, she could not just endanger herself for his sake! If she was hurt, how could he ever live with himself?
Niobe put one hand beneath Raoul's chin, making the boy look at her. The Phantom held his breath. "How about a little kiss, my sweet?" she asked teasingly.
Raoul clearly hesitated, and Niobe watched him with her eyebrows raised expectantly. The idiot! As if there was any difficulty in kissing a woman! Well, at least kissing Meg had not been difficult. Claire might have been trickier. But Niobe should really present no problem, Hell devour the boy! He expected him to turn around and ask Christine for permission any moment now.
Just do it, damn you! Do it!
Hell, if Raoul ruined this all, he was going to kill him!
"Don't you dare?" Niobe mocked him. "Let's see what's going on in your mind then, shall –" But she got no further, because Raoul had leaned down to kiss her at last, thus silencing her. Finally! The Phantom wrinkled his nose at him. That annoying little snotrag had almost not dared to.
Niobe snaked one of her arms around Raoul's waist, while the other went around his shoulders, her hand on the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his hair, so that he could not withdraw too easily. She had done just the same with him, the Phantom remembered, only that she had used that mind trick of hers on him as well, that trick which had entranced him, rendering him defenceless.
The trick he had used on Christine himself.
Christine. He could feel her anger in his mind, her jealousy and anger, especially as Niobe's other hand wandered down to Raoul's backside and applied an experimental pinch. The boy squirmed, but he did not try to withdraw.
A good bait, indeed.
The only question remaining was how to determine when Niobe would enter the little fop's mind. If he did the same with Raoul, he would know, but she would know at the same time, and there probably was a way of accessing him through the boy, though he was not quite sure. Trying to enter Niobe's mind was out of the question, of course. So the only thing he could do was wait for Raoul's reaction. He had hurriedly given the boy a few instructions as for how to recognize another's presence in his head, but he was not really sure if the boy could do it and give him a hint. Yet what he certainly would see was when Raoul started to show signs of that trance-like state Niobe would surely send him into. He knew those well enough from his own experiences with Christine, after all.
At this thought, he felt a gentle twinge of guilt.
Reaching out once again to soothingly caress Christine's awareness, he slowly, very carefully drew his dagger, trying to keep the hissing sound of metal sliding over metal as low as possible. Soon it would be time for a blade once again.
The truth was, he admitted to himself, he did not dare to engage Niobe in a struggle of mind against mind. True, he had removed her from Christine's head once before, but they had not been face to face then, and what had taken Christine at that time had been nothing but some odd kind of tendril left over lurking at the defences of his own mind, some kind of… residue. But if he fought her face to face… At their last confrontation, she had been the stronger, and he nothing but a helpless victim, a toy to do with as she pleased. The memory of the shame she had caused him made him clutch the dagger until his knuckles whitened almost painfully.
The truth was, he was afraid. Yes, he was. Not frightened of her, not of Niobe herself. It was failure he truly feared.
No, he would not fail. He could not, he must not fail! Not with Christine there, and with Meg. Not when foolish young Raoul was offering himself up as a bait.
Oh, to Hell with him, what did the boy matter? Why should he care? It was the girls he meant to watch over. When he killed Niobe, he would be defending them.
And Gaston and Serge, maybe, and those other three who had followed him willingly, Leclair and Xavier and Marie.
Well, that probably included the boy, too, then.
Curse the boy.
With narrowed eyes, he watched as Niobe's hands caressed Raoul's stiff body. The boy seemed tense, clearly uncomfortable; it was obvious that he did not enjoy her ministrations – or that he felt he enjoyed them too much, perhaps. The Phantom remembered that it had been the same with him, that part of him had wanted to refuse her, while the other part wanted nothing but being touched by her.
That Raoul would take that shame upon himself just to give the Phantom the opportunity he needed to strike… What made the boy do it, his devotion to Christine? Surely there was no other reason.
His opportunity. It would soon come. Niobe had broken the kiss, only to let her lips wander down the side of the boy's jaw and to his neck, biting and suckling his skin. Christine was disgusted, he felt, disgusted with Niobe's outrageousness, with her shameless desire for dominance, for exerting control over a man by possessing his body before she took his mind. And he found he felt just the same. He could have done the same with Christine, the first time she had been down here with him already, when she was enchanted by the spell of his voice and entranced by the power of his eyes. He could have made her his own there and then. At those moments when they had been so close to each other that their lips had almost met, and when Christine's eyelids had fluttered closed unconsciously in expectation of the contact, he had been tempted, and tempted very much indeed. But he had not kissed her. He had held her to him and caressed her, but not kissed her. Because there were choices she had to make on her own. However possessive he had been towards her, he had not forced himself upon her in the end. She had feared he would, after she had taken his mask away for the second time, where everyone could see, but he would never have done it. Not even in his wrath and humiliation and pain. He would never have done with the one he so fiercely desired what Niobe would do to any man without a second thought.
Raoul's breath came in ragged gasps by now, and he stood limply, melting into her embrace. Even as the Phantom wondered whether the time to act had come, she cupped his chin, raking the other hand through his sandy-coloured hair, and made him meet her eyes.
At last. The call of the trumpets in the Phantom's head came to a rousing climax as he approached her, swiftly yet silently, the dagger clutched firmly in his hand.
He might have used the lasso, it occurred to him. Or his sabre, perhaps. Or maybe even the boy's revolver. A noose around her neck would have been the safest method surely.
But this time, he realized as the thin red veils of the direst wrath began to cloud his sight, he wanted to draw blood. And not only that. He wanted to spill it, to savour the sensation of the warm liquid running over his hand. But unlike how Lionel had met his end, this one would be an entirely conscious kill. And he meant to enjoy it.
And this time, Niobe would be the defenceless victim. For how could she manipulating two minds at once?
A shriek from Meg was all the warning he had. Spinning around automatically, he just had time enough to bring up his dagger to block the stab directed at him.
And then the cold hand of dread gripped his heart, for he realized just how much their clever plan had been doomed to go wrong from the very beginning. The bait, the distraction was of no use at all. Because the plan was based on the wrong assumption.
Because Niobe could control two minds at once, after all.
Christine's features were contorted into a snarl painful for him to behold as she advanced on him again, both daggers raised, ready to charge again.
Very dimly he was aware of voices calling frantically, of movement behind Christine, but all he could see was her, and all he could feel was his own heart bleeding. Oh, Christine, Christine! Niobe knew just how to hurt him most. For what did all the pain and humiliation she could give him matter in comparison to harming Christine?
And then Serge was there, gripping Christine's slender form from behind and pinning her arms to her body. Christine struggled, but Serge was a strong man. He did not let her go, even though she repeatedly kicked him in the shins with her heels. He held her, and he did not turn her loose again.
There was only one thing he could do now to free her without causing her pain, the Phantom realized. And he would do it, even if it were to be the last thing he did! "Don't hurt her," he instructed Serge, his voice husky, raspy, before he turned to fight.
"Are you afraid, pretty Erik?" Niobe crooned. Her hands were both tangled in Raoul's hair, and the boy's head rested on her shoulder peacefully.
And from behind him, Christine's voice added, "What are you afraid of?"
Niobe smiled.
"Calm down, Mademoiselle," came Serge's voice from behind him. "Please. Put those knives away." Didn't the man see how useless this was? Christine would not listen now. To nobody.
"Why, you seem to have forgotten many things, my lovely boy," Niobe continued, toying with Raoul's hair. "Did you really think you could distract me, sending me this sweet little thing? I'm certainly grateful for the gift, which will undoubtedly amuse me, but I must say I am insulted to know that you thought you could fool me that easily. Yet you will be forgiven if you please me enough now. If you choose to put up a fight or to submit straight away is your own decision. Just keep me amused, darling. I might even let the girl live, then."
"You will not harm her!" the Phantom snarled, but at the same time he knew how foolish that was. Fear and anguish were tearing him apart inside, while rage and hatred roared and howled in his head.
"Indeed not?" Throwing back her head, Niobe laughed, and the crystal-clear chimes of her laughter made the Phantom shiver inwardly. "Once before you chose an earthling girl over me. And once before I thwarted your pathetic ambitions."
There was no option now but one. But until he got an opening, the Phantom needed to keep her talking, to entertain her in whatever way, just anything, so she would not start harming Christine immediately. "I've never met you before," he said, though he knew that it was useless. They all clung to their mad little story.
"Oh, really? You disappoint me, pretty Erik." Niobe gently scratched Raoul under the chin, and the boy almost purred like a kitten. "But you haven't changed one bit since then, except for your appalling fire-marks. Yes, and you used to wear your hair longer. But you were just as arrogant, and just as stubborn. Don't you remember that secret meeting, in the deepest vaults of Créon's stronghold, far beyond the Circle of Blessing? Don't you remember the demands you made?"
"The only thing I demand of Créon is to go to Hell and leave me in peace." May she be damned forever, that accursed wanton! "And the same goes for you."
"You wanted something else of me then."
"Keep dreaming, bitch," he snapped. Hell devour him alive, how was he to kill her? How was he to save Christine?
"And your manners have not improved one bit, I see. But I wasn't expecting them to, anyway." Patting Raoul's back, Niobe appeared perfectly at ease with herself. "What are you waiting for, sweetie? An opportunity to stab me while I fall victim to another of your so very effective distractions? Your turn to keep on dreaming, love."
Yes, it was true, the Phantom thought, there was no plan left now. They practically stood face to face, he and Niobe, and nothing would happen anymore to change that. However he had tried to avoid the confrontation, however he feared its outcome, there was no escape anymore. If he wanted to kill her, then he would have to do it face to face with her, not from behind.
This was the constellation of the final battle, then.
"Don't you remember the ramparts above your own home, one afternoon in the sun?"
"Don't you remember the Road of Nerayamat?" Christine's voice came from behind him, making him wince. He was tempted to turn towards her, but he forced himself to face Niobe and never look back. Not now. Not anymore.
Niobe was still smiling at what she probably thought was his own uncertainty. "The balcony above the Gates of Heaven?" she prompted. "The place of your duty as well as your treason?" There was at least one thing he could be certain of, then.
As he had expected, Christine's voice continued the taunt from behind him. "Your own bedchamber?" He clenched his teeth as she spoke. But what he had just realized, once he began pondering what their mental combat was going to be like, made his heart beat with hope anew. He could do this, he really could! In the end, there was only one bait he needed.
Only one gambit to play.
Satan help him, but he had to risk it. For all their sakes.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he sought Niobe's gaze, then let go of the shield protecting his mind at last, discarded all defences. "I submit," he said quietly. "Make me remember."
Niobe's eyes widened slightly in surprise, then a triumphant smile curled her lips. "So you have come to me at last, my pretty Erik." One of her arms sank down from Raoul, and at the same time the boy stirred. So close to her, the Phantom could feel her refocus, and it seemed to him that everything was slowing down around him, slowing down more and more –
Niobe's attention shifted, ever so slowly…
The world was going to freeze in mid-motion, he felt, it surely was going to.
Her focus was wandering…
And he found that he did not care whether it froze or not.
Wandering…
Ever so slowly, Raoul was beginning to lift his head –
The focus was approaching, coming closer rapidly… closer… closer…
There was a gentle shift in the power balance behind him, a movement towards Niobe, a partial recalling of her strength…
Closer… almost there…
Her unbound power was waxing ever so slightly as she shifted her attention bit by bit, gram by gram, spark by spark – It was as if a light before him was growing brighter and brighter, a garish sheen that was waxing… waxing…
The contact was coming… the connection… the two ends were there, bending towards each other…
His eyesight blurred as his mind focused on one thing alone; he could feel himself breathe, but far, far away…
The ends were there, the channels of light, the openings of two awarenesses – he had no idea what to call them. But for the first time since facing Niobe, he knew what to do.
And the a flash of light filled his head as those two connected. Their eyes met, and so did their minds.
And Niobe was pushing forward, entering his awareness, pushing forward into the unguarded outlying regions of his mind… He could feel what she deemed her triumph now, her pride, her scorn, her savage joy. She was there; he had her in his head. Tendrils were beginning to creep out as she started a scan of his mind –
Now.
The fallen walls snapped back up from nothing, sheer and hard and cold, and all around the one point in his head that was her, surrounding her.
Too late, Niobe realized that she was trapped, that a not too small part of her strength was bound inside his head, beating against him uselessly. There was a danger in dividing up one's focus into too many parts…
Already the connection to Raoul was dimming as was the one to Christine, as Niobe tried to reassemble some power to strike out at him and free herself –
There would be no other chance for her. "Forgive me," he said coldly, taking the last step towards her to stand by her side. "I was lying." And then his dagger found its target at last, and his burning hatred found its prey.
Niobe staggered as he withdrew the blade from her side, all the demons of Hell howling in his head, and at the same time Raoul stumbled backwards from her without orientation as he woke from his trance, leaving Niobe to fall against the Phantom, clutching his shoulders.
Their eye contact never broke.
And then her mind lay bare before him.
Images flashed through his head, too fast to follow. A swirl of colours and sensations was making him dizzy, but he pushed past it, down, ever downwards, to what he wanted to see.
"This is for Christine," he hissed at her as he brought up the blade again from between their bodies, stabbing her in the chest. The blood spurting out over his hand gave him equal delight as the liquid light inside her mind pouring out into the darkness. The thrill of it, the satisfaction, the perverse joy! At this moment, he knew nothing else.
There was one image in her mind, one image stronger than all others, drowning them all out. Focusing his mind on it, he recognized himself, or what was supposed to be himself – it was his own face, but without the scars, and his hair appeared to be longer, for some reason, hanging down to his shoulders in lightly curled strands. Yes, this was him, alright, but then again, not entirely. He was wearing a thin black velvet jacket hanging open, and nothing beneath, which might be his style more or less, except that he owned no such jacket. It seemed that he was approaching the beholder – who seemed to be Niobe, but he could not tell, since her mind was dimming rapidly – with a little smile playing on his lips and then pulled her into his embrace, let her rest her head at his shoulder.
And what he could see over his own shoulder made his insides freeze to ice.
Rage billowed up in him like a surging cloud of bats, mad, yet helpless rage. The ice shattered, driving myriads of sharp splinters into his flesh. "And this is for me," he snarled, stabbing Niobe's already crumbling body once again, then roughly pressed his lips to hers, parting them with his tongue, drawing in the taste of blood beginning to fill her mouth. It offered him no satisfaction at all.
And then the last droplet of the essence of Niobe's life was spilled, and her lifeless form slumped down to the ground as he let go of her, but there was no triumph now. He knew he was supposed to feel something, but he felt nothing. Nothing at all. There was only emptiness inside him.
Quietly Raoul stepped up beside him, yet keeping himself at a little distance, gazing at Niobe's fallen body intently. "Gosh," he said at last.
And there was Meg, approaching them carefully, hesitantly, stopping a good five paces away from him. Dimly he was aware of what she must be seeing now, him standing over Niobe's dead body still clutching a blood-stained dagger, his clothes wet with blood that was not his own. And that trickle running down his chin from his lower lip… He carefully tested it with his tongue and tasted blood as well. Once again not his own blood. Meg must be in a state of dread of him currently.
But he did not care. There was nothing he cared about right now. Nothing at all.
Although he did not want to see it, his eyes were irresistibly drawn by one of the pictures on the wall, a coloured sketch he had made himself once, perhaps about a year ago. It showed a pair of ivory-white towers gleaming in the sun, above a mighty iron-barred gate, and ramparts on both sides of it, including structures as what seemed to be entire roofed buildings and minor towers. There were no human figures to help estimate the bulwark's size, and no birds wheeling in the winds of the skies overhead, but he knew that it was gigantic, the most gigantic thing conceivable.
The ice returned, its biting cold paining his insides.
Others were coming now, too, Serge and Leclair and Xavier, but he paid them no heed, and they all stayed away from him.
Kneeling down at Niobe's side, Raoul bent to check her pulse. "I kissed thee ere I killed thee," he muttered to himself, and the Phantom recognized the Shakespeare quote without feeling anything at hearing it, not even as Raoul looked up at him with an odd, wondering expression on his face. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing.
And then he felt the hesitant touch of a hand on his forearm, and the ice melted away as he dropped his dagger and turned to face Christine, leaving behind only the slight stinging the cut Adhemar had given him caused him. He only looked at her, drank in her innocent beauty, silently marvelling at her courage to come up to him when no-one else dared to. But there was nothing he found to say to her. Her presence was warming his heart, but still he felt so utterly empty inside.
Christine's eyes strayed to the picture on the wall as well, and then she nodded with quiet understanding. Or was it pity? "I've seen it," she whispered. "I've seen it all. I know."
"I'm no angel," he murmured. There was nothing else to say.
"I know, Erik. I know."
