A Rose That Thrives in Darkness
Summary: The Persian gave Erik the gift of a young bride. Her name is Nasrin, known as Fire Rose. After learning of Christine, she begins to vie for the Phantom's love, mad with loneliness. But what happens when her small tricks turn into a deadly game of life and death?
Shade: Hello and welcome to my second POTO fic! (raves). I don't own POTO or anything along those lines. The play lyrics are copyright of Andrew Lloyd Webber . . . WHY CAN'T I OWN THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA! (cries) (regains composure) All right, I'm better now. Oh, and if you have any questions or comments at all throughout this story . . . please, review and let me know. Enjoy!
"Pity comes too late
Turn around and face your fate
An eternity of this
Before your eyes." –Track Down This Murderer
Chapter 1: A Gift of Flesh and Blood
Erik played his organ loudly, drowning out the sound of dripping water and the squeaking of rats. The powerful chords boomed out into the corridors of the labyrinth as a musical warning. Benign as the music was, Erik was far from kindly. His face was twisted in a ruthless scowl as he pounded on the organ keys, his white mask glowing orange in the dim light. A dried piece of parchment lay in front of his eyes, darkened with musical notes. The candlelight played deceptively on its yellow surface.
"Almost done," he muttered to himself. His voice emerged hoarse. It had been days since he last spoke aloud. But he paid no heed. He merely dipped his quill in ink and carefully placed more notes on the page. It was almost completely filled with a complicated, yet astounding piece. Erik's blue eyes surveyed it in triumphant satisfaction, as if he conquered and destroyed the greatest barrier known to mankind.
When he was finished, he smiled warmly at his written creation. It was beautiful to him, though the edges were burned and there were sparse patches of ink dots on the side.
"It is perfect. I have completed it at last." He dipped the quill in ink again and scribbled down in dark cursive, "Don Juan Triumphant." He grinned at the piece and the orange candlelight twirled and danced in his deep blue eyes.
Just then, Erik heard the sound of an oar caressing the surface of the lake. He peered at the door to his lair and saw his boat being guided to its homeport, a man hunched guardedly over something as he rowed. Erik, bemused, opened the final gate, allowing the small boat to finish its course. He watched as the man leaped from the boat and walk up to him.
"Erik, I hope I haven't disturbed you." The Persian's familiar voice caused Erik to settle.
"Hello daroga. What brings you here uninvited?" His voice was soft, yet sharp with agitation.
"I have brought you something that I think you will love. A present if you will," the Persian said, humbled before the dangerous man.
"Oh? What kind of present could you possibly give to me?"
"You will see in a moment. It is somewhat a present to manifest my respect for you."
Erik seemed pleased by this long overdue tribute to his genius. "Proceed at will, daroga."
The Persian bowed, his astrakhan hat shifting on his head. "Monsieur, I know you are lonely down here in this lair. I have brought for you a companion." He motioned towards the boat.
In the flickering candlelight, Erik could see something thrashing on the floor of his boat. He cocked his eyebrows, intrigued. "Go on," he murmured.
"Well, I brought you-"
"Daroga, look!" Erik cried, whipping towards the boat.
The Persian stopped speaking and looked towards the small ship. A figure, bound and chained leaped off the side and into the water, immediately becoming submerged.
"Damn it!" the Persian roared, stumbling over to the ship and leaping into the water. He soon disappeared into the inky black depths. Erik looked on with concern, his eyebrows furrowed.
Soon, the Persian erupted from the water, clutching a figure tightly under his arm. The shape lashed out, but made no sound and uttered no cry; the ferocity of its thrashing made Erik look on with bemusement.
"Forgive me, Monsieur. This gift certainly has spirit." His eyes widened. "Your parchment!"
Erik looked down at his musical score he still clutched in his fist. In all the commotion, he had let his parchment become too close to a candle. Already, most of his beloved masterpiece was naught but ashes.
"No!" Erik roared. He ran to the river with the paper still smoldering in his fist. He immediately thrust the paper into the water, extinguishing the small blaze. When Erik pulled the score to the surface, he gave a cry of dismay. Don Juan Triumphant was nothing more than soggy parchment and smeared ink. He crumpled the destroyed remains of his work in his fist and wielded on the Persian.
"Whatever you are giving to me, daroga, it was what caused this and I want it out of my home right now!" His face was flushed in indignation.
"Will you at least listen to what I brought you," the Persian pleaded.
"Fine, what did you bring me?" Erik asked in an irate drawl.
The Persian shoved the figure into the candlelight. It crashed to the floor and gave a small cry as its head struck the rock.
Erik kneeled down and turned the figure's head to him. He was met with a pair of fiery blue-green eyes and pursed pink lips. He had never seen more hostility in a gaze before.
"May I present to you, Monsieur, your gift. I have given you the gift of a virgin bride."
Well there you have it, the introduction. How did you like it? –Shade