Thank you for the very kind reviews. Here is chapter two.
A/NThis is written in Erik's pov
Disclaimer: I do not own Erik,nor anything to do with the Phantom of the Opera. I do, however, own the girl. Who shall remain nameless ;)
How dare he! How dare that boy touch her!
I can never forgive myself for deserting her in her time of need. If only she would not anger me so! I would never have touched her, never have hurt her if she just sang!
I am blaming her for things which she has done nothing, It is not her fault Christine deserted me. Not her fault Christine denied me. It seems I have been doomed to an immortal wandering.
The day I returned I knew I would not apologize, it had never been my strong point, but when I saw her. Lying broken and battered, his dirty marks all over her...
I have never wanted to kill so strongly.
She was afraid of me, not because of my mask or my temper. She was afraid I would touch her in that... manner. She thought I would take that from her!
She did not flinch from my touch, no; she took my hand and fell asleep, some small comfort knowing I was there.
I knew then that I would do anything to protect her, I had become attached again. But not romantically, more as one would a... a friend.
She would not give me a name, but the boy was easy enough to find. He had her under things! For gods sake he was whirling them around in some sort of victory!
He was with others but they were easily enough frightened off.
I hung him. I would have tortured him slowly but was in no desire to spend anymore time there then necessary.
When she returned, knowing that it was I, who had killed the boy, there was such anger in her eyes.
It was not directed at me, or at least not for long.
She screamed at me, and flung herself, and I tried to conceal a flinch. No I was not afraid of her. I just hated to see her in such distress.
I had to make her see; I touched each of her bruises tenderly, speaking to her with my eyes.
She understood. She understood and fell into my arms.
She cried and begged me for comfort; I know I felt tears hot on my cheeks then. Memories of a bitter past, begging for my own mothers love.
Here was this poor child, wanting nothing more then someone to care for her, to see her for what she was.
I vowed to never left anything harm her again and I told her so.
She fainted, her body suddenly going limp.
I lifted her, she was no heavier then a feather, and I helped her out of her clothes.
Her nightgown was hard enough to find, and I slipped it over her and eased her back into her covers.
A rose was in my hand, and I pressed my lips against the soft red petals, placing it softly upon her pillow.
A token. So she would see, so she would know, that she would not be alone in this world. She would not be alone like I was.
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