Author's notes: Last chapter from Erik's POV (sadly). I enjoy writing him, he is a great character and very fun to write, especially the sarcasm. Anyway, after this, there will be 5 mostly original chapters plus a jump forward to the DOM sequence again before that happens. Then when we get to La Ball Masque, I will be switching 2 or 3 POVs during each chapter until we reach the end.
starnat – she was afraid, I think. I mean, think about it: Erik had just murdered a person and a (in her eyes) handsome and trustworthy friend was admitting that he loved her. But it was a betrayal, in a sense.
Maidenhair– yay, new reviewer! No, it's not odd. Well, I think you got the heaven thing right. If the souls find the light, then they are ready. Yes, I think so. Anyway, read on!
Enrinye– Sorry, Z – singing comes next. Now Erik's gonna be really mad. You're stealing my lines about Buquet:-p Anyway, "bruchomluvectvo" is fine and dandy, but I thought the bottle trick was "haluzne". Anyway, he couldn't have done the ventriloquism while chasing Buquet around, right?
lady kathrin – read on, read on!
longblacksatinlace– Indeed! Read on!
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Chapter 11 – FlameX X X X
I have never considered myself a strong-willed person when it came to resisting the commands of my temper or the instincts I have learned to trust. The only thing that kept me standing behind that statue, motionless and soundless, was that I wasn't sure if Christine would forgive me a second murder this night, especially if it would be her best friend.
Perhaps it was also my curiosity. What else would she tell the boy? She had already revealed much, though only in general, nothing specified. She didn't strive to betray the secret of the mirror, not even that small thing I could have easily made inaccessible to the world.
She cared for me.
I couldn't explain it otherwise. A frightened child would rush to the ones with more power in the matter; reveal all she knows and let them take care of the rest. Christine didn't. And that intrigued me. I wanted to speak with her as soon as possible, preferably without the boy's presence hindering things. I had no intention of revealing myself to him.
Knowing Christine, she would see that he didn't really understand what she was saying or care about her rightful fear. The boy had no idea what she meant or who she spoke of. Like all the other new people in charge of the Opera – the managers – he didn't believe in my existence. Which was remarkably stupid of him, seeing as I had spoken to the entire Opera not so long ago, announced my presence, repeated my demands and punished them for their disobedience.
The boy, still clinging to Christine in a really pitiful attempt to grant her comfort, tried to speak, adding only more melodrama to the already unnecessarily emotional atmosphere. His words, filled with obvious love for the girl, made my blood boil.
"No more talk of darkness. Forget these wide-eyes fears, Christine. I'm here, nothing can harm you."
The very statement made me want to snort. Yes, nothing could or would harm Christine, due to the fact that the only person they considered dangerous tonight had lost his heart to her long ago. Even in my notes, I had spoken protectively of her, though attempting to maintain a professional outlook on things. Inside, I knew I was pushing her into the limelight not only because of her obvious talent. I was doing it for her happiness, for the simple fact I wanted to see her smile, though she wouldn't find out who got her there. Not yet.
"Christine…" The Vicomte paused for a moment, "Let me be your freedom… let daylight dry your tears. I'm here, with you, beside you. If you will allow me to do so, I will guard you and guide you, help you through these hard times."
With a light frown, Christine stepped away from him. "Raoul… what are you saying?"
I dreaded the answer to that as well. So it had come to this. He was going to say it, I knew. I anticipated it, knowing that one day; simple admiration wouldn't be enough for him. There was simply too much beauty in Christine to avoid attention of others.
"I love you, Christine."
I shut my eyes tight. Not only did his voice, sickeningly sugary, just like his visage, irritate me, no end, but I realized I had given him the perfect chance to claim her. A single yes, uttered in a moment of fear, fear of me, would destroy everything.
To anticipate things can be crushing, for you know your doom is at hand.
"You… love me?" Her eyes seemed to be brightening, clinging to the single hope she saw. "But… Raoul, I am not a noblewoman, you cannot possibly mean that. I…"
"It doesn't matter to me, Little Lotte – nothing does." He interrupted reassuringly. "All I need to know is if you feel the same and I will take you away from these nightmares. We'll be happy together, just as we were before, as children. We were in love back then, but we were children. But I love you still, Christine. I have never wanted anyone else as my wife, other than you." was the blunt confession.
It was the single reassurance Christine needed. Once she knew that the boy wasn't simply toying with her or wanting some sort of amusement but was dedicated to the task of caring for her and securing her by marriage, a melody reached my ears. It was sweet, almost naïve, but clearly loving.
Say you'll love me every waking moment
Turn my head with talk of summertime
Say you need me with you now and always
Promise me that all you say is true
That's all I ask of you
She was singing. A single plea for love, which any man would have answered gladly… and she sang it for the boy. There would be no goodbyes, no last visits, nothing. She would disappear, without a word, to the world where I couldn't reach her. It wasn't within my power… well, it was, you could say, but the outside world had become foreign to me throughout the years.
I could do really nothing other than stay behind the statue and watch the entire scene. As I expected, the agonizing torment could only increase, for the boy didn't need encouraging. As soon as he knew he had a chance, he caught up with her, mimicking the tune she used as good as he could.
Then say you'll share with me
one love, one lifetime
Let me lead you
from your solitude
Say you need me with you
here beside you
Anywhere you go
let me go to
Christine
That's all I ask of you
The single thing that could have made my life worse at that current moment was to hear her voice, loving and with the hint of an enchanting smile, join in the song, with clear devotion. It was sheer force of will that kept me from doing something brash, but I saw, crushed, that even if I would emerge from behind the statue, anything I would do would only make things worse.
Say you'll share with me
one love, one lifetime
Say the word
And I will follow you
Share each day with me
Each night, each morning
Say you love me…
…you know I do
Love me
That's all I ask of you…
I couldn't watch anymore. The image was already imprinted into my mind, I hardly paid attention to what happened afterwards. Before my eyes was the image of my angel, my Christine, in the arms of the boy, the accursed Vicomte de Chagny, who had just claimed the first kiss from her lips.
I didn't see anything else. My senses were blocked, too overwhelmed to even register anything. I took notice only of the fact that Christine spoke of a fast flight from the Opera, probably never to return. A fast flight from the "waking nightmares" that awaited her here.
Once the door finally closed behind them, I found the strength to step out of the shadows, the only sound I heard the beating of my own heart. I was surprised it was still beating, actually. It had been broken in a matter of seconds.
I had thought… hoped… believed that she cared for me. I had trusted her more than anyone in the world, even after her childish curiosity, her fear. I did all in my power to aid her, denied her nothing, worshipped and admired her from afar, never touching her, for I was unworthy of nearing myself to something so pure.
I thought I had mastered the art of torture. Now I saw that I still had much to learn. Christine would be a fine teacher. I was impervious to pain, I thought, but she managed to strip that illusion within less than a minute. I was still vulnerable and she took full advantage of that, however unintentional.
Doing something I had never dreamed of even in my wildest fantasies, I had taken her to my kingdom, offered her my world, my music and wanted to dedicate my life to her happiness. On a golden plate, I had offered her my heart, without second thoughts.
Only to had it returned to me in pieces.
I spotted something crimson on the white mass of the snow and knelt down to pick it up. It was the rose I had given her this evening as encouragement, as proof of the fact she should have faith in her, in me, in us…
During her flight with the boy, she had lost it. Or perhaps she had thrown it away intentionally… no.
I gave you my music
Made your song take wing
No, Christine wouldn't do that. Christine was frightened. She acted out of fear, not out of love. Self-persuasion was most effective when afraid. And I daresay she had been scared to death by the deeds committed tonight.
And now, how you've repaid me?
Denied me and betrayed me…
The realization was simple. My heart, though broken, still belonged to her. What a fool I was, you can say, and a masochist at that. Time and time again she had betrayed me and still when she returns, I open my arms to welcome her back, ecstatic, offering her what she had rejected before.
He was bound to love you
When he heard you sing…
She was mine. A simple trick – playing upon her fear and innocence – wouldn't be enough for the boy to win her over. He might have given her the illusion of safety when outside the Opera, but I knew damned well that Christine would return. Her life was music. Her life was the Opera. And even a Vicomte couldn't change that.
"Christine… Christine…" I whispered, my voice choked with tears. I felt those tiny drops of salty water on my face, sliding down and falling into the snow.
If she only knew how much I loved her, perhaps she would have understood. She would have seen that all this had been only for her. She would have seen past the physical. She would have stayed.
Say you'll share with me
one love, one lifetime
The careless, naïve singing reached me. I opened my eyes, holding back the sobs that escaped my lips at the thought of what was happening. There was no shame in these tears, for they had a right cause. If I hadn't cried, I daresay the outcome wouldn't have been very pleasing. And certainly not good for anyone's health.
Say the word
And I will follow you
My self-control was fleeing. I watched the rose in my hand, the simple bloom, a symbol of my love for Christine. I saw her… and then I saw him. I saw the face of the Vicomte de Chagny, the perfect, flawless face. Suddenly, I began squishing the rose without even thinking. My grip was tightening by the moment as I imagined the boy dying a thousand horrible deaths.
Share each day with me
Each night, each morning
I threw away what remained of the flower. The red petals on the snow seemed to be drops of blood. With morbid satisfaction, I imagined it to be the boy's. This wasn't over. They would return, sooner or later. They both had ties to the Opera.
For now, I would immerse myself in my music, using what I have learned of love and heartbreak to create new music. Don Juan Triumphant awaited me and I knew that the work of decades would have to be finished soon. The perfect opera, a spectacle unlike anything the world had ever seen. And in my rage, I set this goal and another – it would be performed.
I never wanted it to be performed, actually, because I didn't think I would be able to finish it the way I wanted to. Now, however, things were different. Don Juan would yet triumph. I would astonish the world with my work and finally achieve peace, calming the burning fires of the score that I held within the depths of my mind. I would release the blazing inferno of my emotions and let all enemies burn.
And Christine, my angel, my Aminta, would perform the lead role. It had been written for her, after all. For her, I would write more music, show her all of myself and give her the final choice. Afterwards, there would be no turning back. We would be past the point of no return…
The idea stayed within my mind. I would write a song, a duet, with that title, for Don Juan and Aminta, for myself and Christine, expressing everything that I couldn't say with normal words.
But, with my mind immersed in fury, I barely thought as I leaped on the statue near the edge of the rooftop, my black cape blowing in the evening wind.
You will curse the day you did not do
All that the Phantom asked of you!
The deafening roar of my rage was also a mockery of the love song I had heard moments ago. My music would burn all bridges behind us and show the world the true nature of passion. Without a second thought, I disappeared from the rooftop, entering my domain once more.
The organ immediately began playing loud, infuriated music, repeating phrases, editing phrases, simply playing… and, for the first time in years, I suppose, in my mad, frantic state, like a scientist from gothic novels creating a fantastic monster, I was satisfied with my work.
Rage, love, despair, hatred, anguish – all turned into music, no longer the gentle and splendorous music of the night. It was burning, a fire lit by that burning in my soul. That night, I truly felt like Don Juan, who had finally claimed the woman he had sought for years, having found inspiration and literally raped it with my music. Yet tonight wasn't a triumph of Don Juan's.
It was mine.