Shade: Sorry guys, lol. There are going to be a fair amount of POV changes. So forgive me if it's confusing. I just needed to include the perspectives of a lot of different people. Also, the person belonging to the 200th review gets a prize! Huzzah! And hey, if you don't get 200, you can always try for 300! (wink)
"Then at last, a voice in the gloom
Seemed to cry, "I hear you!
I hear your fears, your torment
And your tears!"
She saw my loneliness . . .
Shared in my emptiness.
No one would listen . . .
No one but her
Heard as the outcast hears . . ." –No One Would Listen
Chapter 20: Out of the Ashes of Sorrow
Madame Giry's POV:
I walked back to the Opera house, playing my role over and over in my head. Nasrin . . . pardon me . . . Daevas had instructed me to convince everyone that she had been killed and her body unable to be recovered.
This bears an omen worse than death around it . . .
This was a very risky trick she was pulling. If she failed, what would become of me? Of my daughter? Of the Opera House?
Daevas is clever, a very brilliant and cunning girl. She will manage.
Still, I wondered if I was doing the right thing, aiding in a brokenhearted girl's madness. The doors loomed before me. It was time for me to put on the most dangerous pretense of all: the pretense of fake mourning.
I opened the doors and strode through, using the rain as my tears of sorrow. I clutched the bloody cloth in my fist and looked up. Members of the cast looked at me beseechingly, their eyes darting with uncertainty behind the glitzy, sequin embroidered masks. I held up the cloth in my fist and feigned weeping, hiding my head in my hands.
"There, are you all satisfied? The Fire Rose is dead! She is gone! Your reaction to her misfortune killed her!" I met eyes with Christine, who clapped her hands over her mouth and shook her head.
"Oh no! How terrible! Madame Giry, what happened?" Raoul held her protectively; I could see he wasn't affected at all by this faux tragedy.
"As she was running from here, she was struck down by a carriage. The driver threw her body into the Seine; I saw her sink." I fell to my knees and wept, feeling Meg wrap her little arms around me. "Poor Nasrin, only seventeen years of age!" I shook my daughter off me and stood on my feet and fled the foyer, still wailing loudly and brandishing the cloth. I had to go to Erik. It was time to convince the most reluctant of believers; Nasrin the Fire Rose was dead.
I paused.
In essence, she was . . .
xXxXx
Jean's POV:
Madame Giry burst in, proclaiming my Fire Rose dead. Dead? How?
No . . .
Struck down by a carriage as she fled, that is how my love had fallen. My breath was sucked from my lungs and I felt weak. I felt responsible, not for that bastard Erik's actions, but for my own. I loved her; I had told her. And I hadn't shown it. Her distortion was repulsive, that fact was undeniable. But it wasn't at all strong enough a sight to decimate my love for her.
I had merely been shocked; I had thought she was without any physical flaws, an angel with intangible wings. If that is how she truly was, I would want her to walk around our house without a wig, for to me, she was still the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I had failed to show her, reassure her of that unwavering fact. And now . . . she was dead. Killed by both Erik and I on the night of my wedding.
I felt like a murderer, a wretched, filthy bloodstained creature. This was Erik's doing . . . He had humiliated and shocked her, which contributed to her untimely death. I would make him pay. How dare he impede upon my family. He had forsaken Nasrin, it was only right that she deserve someone who loves her. I would formulate a plan to bring down the Phantom of the Opera, in the name of my beautiful Fire Rose.
xXxXx
Madame Giry's POV:
I ran through the corridors, stumbling on the hem of my dress as I reached Christine's dressing room. My heart pounded as I felt the shadowy fingers of fear grip fast to my courage. I closed and locked the door behind me, approaching the mirror shakily.
"Erik!" I called. "Erik, please come here!" I began to cry, sitting down at Nasrin's old vanity. Her scent of roses still lingered about the whole chamber.
The mirror slid to the side and Erik emerged in his Red Death costume, proud and sinister. He was glad he had destroyed her! More monster than man the boy I saved had become. "You called for me, Madame?" he gloated.
Suddenly, I no longer felt pity. I wiped my eyes and wailed, "Monsieur, I'm so sorry!"
"Why are you sorry, Madame Giry?" Erik asked me softly, his voice menacing.
I held out the bloody scrap of cloth to him and opened my hand. He looked down at it, and the parts of his face spared from the black paint paled past white. "It's all that's left of her," I explained, running my finger over the surface.
He leaped out of the mirror, grabbing me harshly by the shoulder. His teeth were bared in fury. "What do you mean, that's all that's left? Where is Fire Rose?" I remained silent. "WHERE IS SHE? WHERE IS NASRIN?" he bellowed.
"Monsieur . . . she is dead. This is all that's left." I placed the bloodied cloth in his hand and closed it, still forcing tears from my reluctant eyes. Erik blinked in disbelief.
"How . . . did she . . . ?"
"Struck down by a carriage when she ran from you. The driver threw her body into the Seine. She sank to the bottom."
Erik sniffed the cloth. "I smell no horses, Madame."
OH NO! I had forgotten!
"Well, Monsieur, that is because I gathered this strip of cloth from the river. The stench of a horse shouldn't be on it." I thanked God for His gift of cleverness, for Erik became very pensive.
He looked at the wet, dirty, bloody scrap of cloth in his hand and rubbed his thumb over its surface. "She is gone for good." His shoulders sagged and it looked as though he had slung invisible weights across his back.
"Yes," I replied hoarsely, shaking in fear. "Why did you do that to her? Why did you humiliate her in front of everyone in the theater? How could her suffering be of some great triumph to you? She would never have betrayed you thus! God damn you, Erik! You killed the only woman to ever love you!"
I regretted the last sentence as soon as it passed my lips. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with the knowledge that I had overstepped the boundary of respect that lay between us. His upper lip curled into a sneer.
"God has already damned me, Madame. It was not my intention to murder her tonight, or at all." His voice was remarkably soft, and I saw that Nasrin was right; he began to look weak with the thought that he had killed her.
"Then what was your intention? To ruin her reputation? Rob her of a life besides you?"
"We were meant for one another, Madame," he growled sadistically.
"Answer my question, Erik. I am as wrought with grief as you and I deserve an explanation." I put my hands on my hips and glared at him, flicking my braid behind my shoulders.
"If I couldn't have her, I didn't want anyone else to," he replied weakly. I knew now that the fatuous statement had reached him.
I stood up, pursing my lips and shaking my head. "Well, you got your wish." The blow seemed physical for him and he looked at me, seemingly defeated in every way. I left the room wordlessly.
There Daevas, my part in your plot is complete. Now you must hold true to your word. Revenge is yours; take it . . . use it well.
xXxXx
Erik's POV:
What have I done?
I killed her . . . my beautiful Nasrin . . .
Dead in the name of what?
The blow of one sentence decimated me. My pride, my façade of indifference, my heart destroyed by three damn words:
Nasrin is dead . . .
I wouldn't believe it . . . it couldn't be. A simple passing carriage could not destroy such a large part of myself! It would take the wrath of heaven and hell to destroy Nasrin.
You destroyed her . . . in the name of what? the voice of despair asked, taunting me.
Jealousy, I replied numbly, the revelation as painful as the death itself. I had killed her, my plan gone horribly awry. I would never in my life, no matter what she became, want her dead. It wasn't in me to destroy such a magnificent creature.
But you did . . .
After Madame Giry left me, I stood, numb and breathless in the threshold of the mirror, the bloodied cloth clutched in my fist. I looked down on it once more. This couldn't be all that's left. This useless, languid cloth bared no resemblance to the amazing attire I had seen her wear. I had seen her change from the mirror; I saw her adorn herself with fake diamonds, knowing she deserved real ones. Her dead eyes watched with intensity what she did. The dead look in her eyes was something I hated about what she had become. Ever since we had been apart, I had noticed that look overtake and destroy the sparkle that inhabited her eyes when she gazed upon me.
My lapse in genius had led to the mauling of the most precious flower. Now, the only times I would see her smile were in my mind. Her laughter would never again grace my ears. I would never again feel those lips upon mine, the light brushes of her tongue and her small whimpers teaching me the art of love.
I looked again at the cloth lying flaccidly in my palm. It no longer smelled of roses; it smelled heavily of death. I . . . Erik . . . began to feel weak, as if I bled from the inside and I caught myself against the frame of the mirror.
I replayed the image of taking off her wig. I saw her shake beneath me, tensing and trying to cover her head. Only now did the horror of what I did register in my withered inner conscience. How could I possibly commit such a crime against my Dark Aphrodite and rejoice in it until I heard of her death?
I realized now that it was too late for apologies, for prostrating before her and proclaiming my undying affection. Tears ran the black paint around my eyes, sending a dark residue careening down my face between my skin and the mask.
Her affliction became my pain, her death became my passing, and her last breath was my last breath of true life. Without the one that breathed life into me, I was empty, a husk of a man hiding in a labyrinth like a whipped dog.
I placed the cloth in the pocket at my breast and began to shake, overcome in the worst way. "No . . . you'll come back. You must, lest I be forced to live the rest of my life in solitude. Unless . . . Christine . . ." She is engaged to the Vicomte; that was no barricade of concern to me. Since I had lost Nasrin, I would have her.
Brilliant!
I moved to close the mirror when something caught my eye in the corner of the room. Crumpled on the floor was Nasrin's old turquoise outfit, wrinkled and forgotten. I walked over to it, lifting it up to my face. Her scent still lingered within it and I shivered as tears fell again. I wouldn't be able to bear the scent of roses once this grief truly set in.
I walked through the mirror, clutching the outfit in my arms. I looked back at the dressing room that seemed to exude her sensual aura. My wretched heart twisted as I realized that her memory would fade and her aura would long be forgotten.
I closed the mirror, once again shrouded in shadows and glad that no one could see the tears I shed for my fallen goddess.
xXxXx
The Next Morning
Nadir's POV:
I got up unusually early this morning, a nightmare of blood and pain marring my usual dreamless slumber. A strange urge to take a stroll overtook me and I walked through the streets calmly.
I wonder. . . how is Erik faring with that fiery beauty as his consort? Perhaps I shall check up and see for myself.
I walked up Rue de l'Opera and stopped, gazing up at the splendor of the Opera Populaire. It was a majestic and beautiful creation; there was no denying it. The way the golden sunlight danced across the marble and gold gave me a slight satisfaction. Only Madame Giry and myself knew of the horrors that lay beneath it . . . as well as the beauty.
As my eyes wandered from the roof to the ground, I was alarmed to see a small gathering of flowers and candles at the base of the stairs. I wonder, what happened here? Was there some recent tragedy I have missed?
Erik . . . why do I have a feeling as though this is your doing?
I looked at the people gathered around the stairs, noticing they all were Persian. I felt a sickening dread form in my stomach. There is only one Persian I know who could gather such a crowd of mourners. I prayed I was wrong. I ran over, the feeling worsening.
All of the Persians there bowed their heads respectfully at the memorial. I walked forward to it, dreading whom the memorial commemorated. I didn't want to see the truth, if it was as I surmised.
"What is this?" I asked one of them, eyebrows bunched in concern.
One of the other Persians turned to me sorrowfully, and motioned to one of the pictures on the memorial. I turned. Immediately, my eyes confirmed what my heard had dreaded.
There were roses everywhere with candles lit around them, but in the center was a collage of pictures . . . pictures of Nasrin. There were photos of her dancing in the recent production of 'Aladin' as well as one picture from the Masquerade. The other three were from Persia, and she was seen amongst dancers, smiling with an empty look in her eyes.
I immediately removed my fedora and began to mumble ancient prayers in Farsi, touching the posed portrait of her, taken a few months ago. She looked beautiful, resplendent in all her alluring glory. However, that was all gone; she was dead.
"What happened? How did she die?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly.
Another Persian looked over to me. "Word of mouth is that it happened the night of the Masquerade. Apparently, that hair in the picture wasn't real, and she concealed a hideous, grotesque distortion that the Phantom of the Opera displayed in all his twisted madness. The Fire Rose fled, and that was where a carriage struck her down and her body was tossed carelessly into the river. She has not been found." He began once again to pray. "She was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Allah would have blessed me indeed if I had been her husband. She was engaged to your brother, am I right?"
I nodded numbly. "Yes, she was. After he died, I presented her to a friend of mine. Apparently, he didn't take care of her like I had intended him to."
"You are friends with the Comte de Lamarier?" he asked.
The who? Erik wasn't a count . . . couldn't be . . .
I furrowed my eyebrows. "No, I'm afraid I don't understand. She was married to my friend . . . not engaged to a Comte!"
The other Persian shook his head. "In the obituary in L'Epoque, it stated quite clearly that she was survived by her fiancée, Comte Jean de Lamarier. Here it is." He handed me the paper.
My eyes bulged as I read the obituary, clear as day before me, stating that she was to wed Comte Jean de Lamarier after the Masquerade ball. What of Erik? He had indirectly caused her murder . . . what had festered between them?
"Do you mind if I take this?" I asked the man, motioning to the paper.
"Of course not," he answered. "But guard that one, for there are mourners all over Paris, and some are scrounging for any one they can find. By Allah, I hope your sorrows are quickly mended." He bowed slightly to me.
"And to you, Monsieur. Farewell." I stormed away from the memorial and gritted my teeth.
What in the name of Hell had transpired in order to accommodate this bizarre situation?
I came to the secret entrance into the opera, looked both ways, and vanished into it quickly. Loud music in dark chords echoed menacingly through the corridors. I hadn't heard music this fierce in years; Erik must not be taking this death too well. Such a speculation confused me further. If he was upset about Nasrin's death, why did he murder her in the first place? He was such an enigma . . . always was. I walked through the paths, keeping my hand at the level of my eyes. Though Erik and I held an uneasy friendship, I didn't trust him to release me from one of his traps.
"Erik!" I called over the chords. They immediately stopped after my inquiry and I heard a growl rumble through the labyrinth.
"What is it, daroga? Have you come to inquire as to the death of my wife?" Erik's voice was strained with emotion, but I couldn't place which one.
"Was she you wife? It states plainly in L'Epoque that she was engaged to a Comte!" His lair came into view and he waited for me, pushing the lever to open the portcullis. I gingerly stepped through and walked up to him, hiding my fear behind my eyes. He reached his hand out for the paper and I placed it in his palm. He looked at it, reading the words as if each letter destroyed a little piece of him.
"It was well written. Though . . . it states one thing clearly incorrect."
"And what is that?" I asked, simply to humor him.
"It says here that the love of her life was her fiancée. That is false; that is not what she told me." He pointed to the words angrily, placed strategically next to her picture at the masquerade, her dark chastity beads in contrast against her pure white outfit.
She had remained a virgin?
"Who was the love of her life then, Erik? You?" I looked at him, eyebrow cocked.
My brother had her heart . . . surely Erik knew that . . .
His eyes narrowed evilly and his lips curled back, revealing gritted teeth. "You say that as if it wasn't possible. That is a shame, because that is what we both knew."
She deceived you, Erik. She loved no one but Khortdad. Poor delusional man . . .
"So you say," I muttered, not having the heart to tell Erik the truth. "Would you care to tell me why you drove her to her death? If you say that she loved you, why would you kill her?"
Erik growled. "I was not driving the carriage, daroga; I would never want Nasrin dead."
"Then why is she? What was she doing on the streets in the dark and rain when she should have been in the masquerade? And why was she marrying a count? I gave her to you!" I pointed at him. "You don't know how great a lady you murdered, Erik! The whole damn city is in mourning! What the hell happened?"
Erik sneered before motioning for me to follow him. I trailed behind him, finding it almost inconceivable that he painted so many pictures of her since last night. There were pictures of her dancing, posing elegantly in her many dresses, and in all of them, she was smiling, a fulfillment in her eyes the likes of which I hadn't seen before . . . ever. However in most pictures, her head . . . by Allah, her head. According to the pictures, Nasrin only had eight or nine strands of wispy hair while her scalp was erratic with deep peach scars that dipped in crevices along her black skin. Is that what the man meant when he said she had a hideous distortion? How did something like that happen? And if she was indirectly killed by it, why does she look so happy and comfortable with it in the pictures? I turned to see Erik. He sat down next to a candle and motioned for me to take the seat opposite him. He looked up at me somberly.
"She was marrying a count because I renounced her as my wife a while ago and left her alone. It was a mistake, I realize, and I tried to win her back. I brought my mother's ring to her; I would have proposed. But she had taken my long absence as me no longer wanting her, and she moved on, engaging herself to the Comte only a few moments before I could propose. She didn't show the Comte her distortion, and I revealed her true self to everyone, in hopes that she would see that I alone could bear the sight of her deformity. However, my plan did not go on as I originally intended, and now I have to cope with the loss of my Fire Rose."
So many questions; I had so many questions.
"Was she too difficult for you to handle? Is that why you renounced her?"
Erik snarled and ran his fingers over the candle's flame, moving away just in time to avoid burning himself. "You told me that she was a fiery demon when you gave her to me. I at first despised her insolence; her fervid temper always irritated me." He paused and a hint of a mournful smile creased his face. He suddenly looked so much older than he was. "I realized soon after you gave her to me that you were right, she was wild, just like a fire. Every time you wished to tame her . . ." He stopped his fingers over the fire and I watched as his skin bubbled before it darkened. He quickly pulled it away and looked at the burn. "Every time you tried to tame her, you would be burned by the blaze that vehemently raged within her. Then, you realize that you don't want her to be tame; that she is beautiful because she is untamable, like a fire." He gazed at the candle. "And deceptively just as fragile." He placed his palm over the candle and extinguished it, smoke slipping through his fingers in gray tendrils.
"So that wasn't the reason? What was it?" I implored.
Erik sighed; it was an exasperated, tried sound. "The one time Nasrin and I got slightly intimate . . . I called her Christine. It was a terrible mistake. She and I quarreled and I ended up striking her and throwing her to the ground. She had even held me to console me, and I hurt her. The next morning, she was gone, leaving me with nothing but her scent everywhere. She had gone above, to spend some time away from me. The Comte quickly became an admirer of hers. She flirted with him, knowing that I watched her, that I wanted her. It was cruel, but it was just. After one such instant, she allowed Jean to begin to court her. That set me in a right rage and I renounced her then and there. I knew she loved me; her eyes betrayed everything. I have never seen such eyes as hers." He grew wistful, as if fighting to remember the exact color.
"You loved her?" I conjectured, amazed that anyone could love such a shrew of a woman.
"Love, daroga? I don't even know what that is," he spat. "Was it just obsession that drove me to want her to myself? Infatuation? I don't know."
"And now she's dead; killed by your obsession, infatuation, whatever it pleases you to call it."
His eyes grew dark and his face twisted with rage. "I didn't want to kill her!" He slammed his hands on the table, growling menacingly at me. I drew back in fright, and he suddenly became pensive. "I only wanted her with me."
"Ergo you humiliate her. For such a genius Erik, that was unwise."
He gritted his teeth. "Her death informs me such, daroga. I don't need an insolent old fool like you telling me that."
There was a pause before I ventured one of my other questions.
"Her head, Erik. Is that what it really looked like?" I pointed to the pictures. He followed my gaze and nodded. "Was she born like that?"
His expression suddenly blackened. "Of course not, you fool! Can you honestly remain ignorant to such things? Your brother set her hair on fire!"
Khortdad?
"How dare you accuse my blood of such a horrid crime! Khortdad would never do such a thing unless Nasrin was extremely disobedient!"
"He told her not to dance anymore!" Erik roared back, mad with ire.
"I am certain he would have had a better reason than something so trivial."
"That is what Nasrin told me," he spat back.
Of course she would, Erik . . . she wanted your pity . . .
I sighed and looked around his lair. On his working desk was a rather large slab of marble, untouched from any of the carving tools. "What is that going to be?"
Erik looked to where I gazed and turned back to me. "It will be a sculpture, daroga. In concern as to of what, I do not need to inform you of every single one of my affairs."
"It's going to be of her, isn't it?" I hypothesized, more as a statement than a question.
He glared at me. "Yes," he admitted, far softer than I had thought he would.
There was uncomfortable silence for a few moments.
"Perhaps you should excuse yourself, daroga. I have work to do." Erik turned from me and sat down by the hunk of marble, grabbing the tools and beginning to carve. I remained still, watching him. After a few moments, he turned to face me.
"I believe I told you to excuse yourself. Do not force me to repeat myself. Get out." His voice became sinister, identical to the cold, heartless Erik I had given Nasrin to.
I bowed and quickly hastened with my exit, leaving Erik to slump back down at his bench, carving away at the marble, a tribute to his bride.
That's all she was to him, just a companion, I assured myself. He never made love to her; she still wore her chastity beads. Obviously he didn't . . . he couldn't possibly . . .
My mind was immediately struck by a painful revelation.
It usually takes too long a time for scorned flesh to realize that it can be loved as well.
Then, my mind realized. Erik and Nasrin did love each other.
xXxXx
Daevas's POV:
I was relieved that my dignity no longer mattered, since I was 'dead.' Otherwise, my dignity would have been destroyed once I assembled my new guise. Cloaking myself in black and hiding my face, I ran first to a wig shop in order to purchase a new wig. Picking out the most devilish one I could find, I bought it with some of the money I had stolen from Erik when she left him almost a year ago. Apparently, that bastard was good for something.
I bought a few yards of fabric, sewing it into a scandalous red dress, which revealed a decent amount of my chest. There were two slits in the dress that went all the way up my legs, revealing everything up to my waist. The dress was tight around my waist from a black corset and the dress ended around my ankles. My god damned chastity beads were concealed in a black fabric that was wrapped around them and sewn shut. In order to somewhat cover my legs, I bought fishnet stockings from a shop meant to supply whores and prostitutes. The black stockings went up to the middle of my thigh before fastening in a clip that was attached to my undergarments. To better blend in with a normal Parisian, I had bought blood red shoes to cover my feet.
In an alleyway a few blocks from the opera house, I put on my final props: my orange wig that fell to just beneath my breasts and my new mask, which was large, red and black, and concealed my forehead, nose, eyes and cheeks. For an arcane reason, I found that in my madness, my eyes had forsaken the green, and left me with dark blue, almost black eyes. I was ready; revenge pulsed through my heart, becoming my life force. I despised myself for ever trusting Erik, for believing in him . . .
For loving him . . .
No longer . . . love or not, his reign had to end. I was finished being tormented by him. Turnabout is fair play . . .
"Now, let the reign of Daevas begin." Throwing on my long black cloak to conceal my unusual and taboo attire, I ran towards the opera house, cloaked in shadow.
xXxXx
Erik's POV:
After Nadir left, I put down my chisel. I couldn't sculpt now. I couldn't do anything. I turned to face the army of pictures I had created in my despair. Countless copies of Nasrin's eyes looked at me and I hated them all; I cannot recreate the beauty Nasrin had. I could never do her justice and the thought drove me mad. I was determined to make the sculpture perfect, lifelike; it was how I planned to spend countless days and nights. For now, my hand couldn't hold steady and I forsook the marble in favor of my organ.
The piece I had been working on in her honor was almost complete but for the words. I wasn't struck with any ideas, and it drove me insane. I sat at the organ for a long few moments, and when no ideas struck me, I threw the music aside and moved to a blank piece of parchment. An idea struck me immediately and I began to draw quickly.
I drew the face and figure of a girl enjoying the gentle caress of a breeze. Her eyes were closed and her slender fingers ran through her long black hair. When I finished, my eyes wandered down from her upturned face, down her ample bosom and her curvy waist, on which laid those damned chastity beads. Nasrin. It was always Nasrin; it would only ever be Nasrin.
I never cared about taking life before. Why is this death affecting me so deeply? I asked myself. I had killed Buquet, along with many others over the course of my life.
You didn't love any of them. To kill some one you love hurts more than most pain you will ever feel. My conscience spoke the words I would never admit, even to myself. I gritted my teeth as I felt a lifetime of sorrow well up behind my eyes. A tear fell on the parchment as I wrote her name under her portrait. "Nasrin Khanum the Fire Rose: My Dark Aphrodite."
I touched the dry ink that framed her face and followed the curves of her body longingly. Christine's body was far more pure, virginal, than Nasrin's was. Nasrin's body was dark, sexual, and I doubt there would be a time where I wouldn't miss it.
I looked back towards the portcullis. I heard water splashing from someone's lithe strides and I thought Nadir had returned for some trivial reason. However, a voice boomed towards me, harsh in the language of Farsi. It was a woman, and I felt a sense of unease settle in.
"A new Phantom's haunting the theater,
Who despises music of the night.
Now I, the Daevas, command you
To step down or fight!"
Who does she think she is, coming into my lair the day after the death of some one close and demand my immediate obedience? I growled back.
"Who is it that storms into my lair uninvited and manages to survive the traps?" I roared, still not seeing the origin of this voice.
The reply was quick. "Daevas! I come in the wake of the blood you spilled! As the Fire Rose fell, I rose from her ashes! She was a great confident of mine, and I came to haunt that which destroyed her!"
I stood, my chair scraping hard across the rock. "It is not wise to challenge me! Pitiful fool, so sure you are of yourself. Though by proving you could come here without dying, I have a sliver of amusement in you! Keep in mind that my curiosity is the only thing standing between me and your demise!" Perhaps ridding myself of such a pesky nuisance could satisfy my rage.
Daevas roared back, drawing closer to the portcullis separating her from myself. She was bathed in light, and I paled as I saw the crimson and black adorned creature before me.
Her body was extremely beautiful, but her presence exuded the rancid odor of evil. Blood red cloth billowed out behind her in the water, looking very much like the fallen angel's wings. I wanted to see her face, if such a beautiful figure could be coupled with a beautiful face. The only part of her face I could make out were her black painted lips and her chin.
"If you will not step down and yield to me, I will destroy everything you hold dear!" she threatened, her smile tainted by the black lip paint.
Can one take revenge on a broken man?
I looked at her ruefully. "I have already lost my rose . . . all I have left is my angel. Do you think it wise to tempt a desperate man?" I grew angry at the thought that Christine would rob my happiness of me a second time. What would I do if she rejected me?
"My plans have little to do with wisdom. Why?" Daevas asked, obviously feigning confusion.
I shook my head, Farsi rough upon my tongue. "Then I can almost say I pity you, for if you harm a hair on my angel's head . . . I'll make certain that your death is not dignified."
She laughed . . . the horrid creature before me laughed.
I watched Daevas approach me slowly, in a confidence I had never seen in a woman, nor ever wanted to see again. She stopped in the middle of the lake. "Perhaps it will be you, my good Monsieur, whose death will not be dignified." She pointed at me with one quivering finger, her teeth gritted and I saw behind the mask, her dark blue eyes narrowed, glittering with twisted promise.
I began to wade into the lake over to her, spreading my arms wide and a warped gleam in my eyes. If she wanted a war, she had found one. "Is this battle between us to be centered around our egos?"
Daevas smiled evilly. "Only if that is what you make it. You may make it to be a war of egos, but I am bent on revenge: sweet, bloody, revenge." She snickered and backed away from me, vanishing into the shadows beyond the portcullis, becoming no more than a demonic silhouette. I watched her leave with a weight in my stomach.
Why is it that I feel this war will have consequences I dare not think of? I asked myself.
Because, my conscience answered that which I already knew. Revenge runs thick in her veins. You have encountered a creature so twisted that spilling blood is her creed.
Then, I replied, that is what I will become.
Erik, you already are . . .
A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers! My God you guys are all so wonderful!
XxDallysGirl4Life-x-GerrysLoveTartxX: Hello, welcome to my reviewing family! It seems to grow much of late. Well, Madame Giry simply meant that Christine had returned (even though she's engaged to Raoul) and merely speculated that Erik would be consumed by making her love him. Unfortunately, he did love her first. Don't worry, you will see as it unfolds. Thanks for the review and here is your update!
VictorianDream: Sorry the last chapter was short. A lot is made up here, I hope! Yes I try to update every other day. Sometimes it doesn't work, others it does. LOL, anyway, keep the tissues close (though I don't think you need them as much this chapter.) Anyway, thanks for the review and here is your update!
littledarkone: LOL, I find ways for the plot to thicken. Wait until Daevas gets into full swing. Mwahaha! I am evil. You will see; Erik gets his competition, all right. And it will suck when Daevas actually sees all the stuff Erik drew of 'her.' Let's just say I put one of the genres as angst for a reason, lol. (joins evil laugh) Thanks for the review and here is your update!
Jessie: Every other day I update, lol. Keep that in mind if you go away. LOL. Thank you very much, thanks for your review and here is your update!
xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: LOL, thank you! I know, pity and anger go hand in hand sometimes. (wink) Thanks for the review and here is your update!
Bananas in Pajamas: LMAO! Wow, Jean is well hated. Good! I didn't want anyone liking him! (celebrates) Yes, Daevas is pretty much Nasrin's reincarnation. Her eyes even changed color in her madness. O.o; Oh yes, the party is just getting started. Revenge going at least 4 ways is awesome! And as for the fate of the Comte . . . oh you'll see. (wink) Thanks for the review and here is your update!
harem98: YAY! You live! Huzzah! Thank you. Daevas knows what she's doing; she is very smart. Only, emotions can get in the way of stuff, you know? Thanks for the review and here is your update!
DragonheartRAB: I'm glad I cleared stuff up. YAY! Don't worry, he gets what's coming. (turns into Chicago stage) He had it coming! He took a flower in its prime! And then he used it! And he abused it! OK, I'm done. (nevous laughter) Thank you, thanks for the review and here is your update!
ladyflutter: Oh yeah, Nadir didn't know it was going to end up being such a match, but hey, stuff happens, lol. Erik does deserve this. (nods) As for Nasrin being permanently insane? Well, we'll see . . . I can't say. LOL! You actually looked it up! Wow, that's awesome! Well, we'll go with Daevas and if I'm wrong and Daevas ends up meaning cake, we can pretend it means devil. I just looked it up again . . . it was the name of a demon that was everlasting and a sworn enemy to Ahura Mazda in Zoroastrianism. Nasrin's a muslim . . . but oh well. So it kind of is a devil. Thanks for the review and here is your update!
Mademoiselle Justicia: Dark Fire Dancing Raging Wrath of Doom? XD! That's very amusing. XD! Don't worry, everyone wants Erik to get what he deserves, I assure you it will happen, lol. There I updated! Don't sick your rats on me! EEP! Thanks for the review!
Corpse x Bride: (gives tissues) Oh don't worry! Erik gets it! Don't worry. GO GIRL POWER! W00t! Thank you for the review and here is your update!
Jen Lennon: Yes, immediate reconciliation is pretty much out of the question. -.-; Yes, let hatred burn for a while . . . the passion . . . . I'm not gonna say anymore. (joins evil laughter) Thank you for the review and here is your update!
Dragon-mage16: oh yes. (joins) OOOOOh, breeding tools! XD! Sounds good to me! Don't fear about the passion! Fires will ignite! Let me just say the story will be bumped up to M in a few chappys. It's a small world after all? LMAO! So true, so true . . . Thanks for the review and here is your update!
LadyOfLegends: Yes, right now, Nasrin/Daevas will be synonymous with fear. LOL. Thanks for the review and here is your update Sunbeam! From Shadebean!
Ali: Well, love makes you do crazy things. Especially when you have been severely betrayed by it. Well, she left b/c he called her Christine . . . I'd leave too, lol. Don't worry, I said before that the story goes along with the movie pretty much. Thanks for the review and here is your update!
tink8812: LOL! However many times you wrote it was hilarious. XD! Nadir found out in this chapter so he is part of it again. You are most certainly special enough! See, if you never reviewed any of my chapters, I would only have 183 reviews. And 183 isn't nearly as cool as 188. It just isn't! I don't think he can kiss anyone on the lips; Nasrin would kill him. But a hug and a kiss on the cheek he can most certainly do! Erik!
Erik: All right. (hugs tightly) (smooch on cheek)
Shade: (celebrates) I think at the end I'll have him kiss all my reviewers. Until then, I hope that suffices somewhat! OOH! When you post, e-mail me! (My e-mail is under my profile) I'll certainly go read your stuff! (is flattered to be on your review list) thanks for the review and here is your update!
Mlle. Margarette Rose: Hello, welcome to my ever growing reviewing family! Oh no! Don't die! I have updated, see? Ooh, blueberry muffins are yum! Thanks for your review and here is your update!
xAngelxOfxMusicx: Hello, welcome to my reviewing family! Wow, thank you so much! (bows bashfully to applause) Wow, all my reviewers are so nice to me. I love all you guys! (applauds for all of you) Thanks for the review and here is your update!
Artemis12's phantom: Hello, welcome to my reviewing family! Well, I don't know if you missed that, but Nasrin didn't want to marry Jean b/c she loves him. She hates him. She was going to marry him because she thought Erik didn't love her. Erik knows Nasrin loves him; that thought alone drove him to do what he did. And as for the happily ever after, who says it's completely ruined anyway? Hearts mend, even through madness. And also, she may have engaged herself to Jean, but she would never unmask him in front of everyone. Although truth be told, she wasn't hated and scorned her whole life . . . I guess that makes it a deadlock. I am interested to see what you think about later chapters. Thanks for the review and here is your update!
Ethalas Tuath'an: I haven't heard from you in a while. Hello again! LOL! Wow, yes, Erik realizes his lapse in genius. Don't worry. I was just referring to the fact that Christine returned to the opera house. She followed Nasrin after she went out, remember, so she wouldn't know if Christine went below or not. XD! Obsession takes the best of us at times, I know. Well thank you, I am pleased to hear this is one of your favorites. (bows) I hope future chapters don't disappoint. Anyway, thank you for the review and here is your update!