Author´s notes: This took long… sorry. School, ya know the drill. Anyway, I changed the tense in this chapter somewhat, hope it´s okay...
Mominator – Hehe, not telling! Read on!
Twinkle22 – thanks! Here it is!
Enrinye – Thanks, Z. Anyhow, here you go!
EriksIngenue – Don't worry
Maidenhair – I will. ;-)
X X X
Chapter 13 – Heart of iceX X X X
From that moment on, there was not a second when I wasn't accompanied by someone, most often Raoul, no moment I had for myself… I couldn't even leave my room for some fresh air, because my fiancé would immediately tell me that it´s too dangerous for me to wander outside while an obsessed murderous blackmailer is on the loose.
I do not see the Phantom as a monster, however, though all the people around me do. Knowing the secret of his face has made me pity him above all else. Nevertheless, I know I must not risk anything. Still… I feel an urge to talk to my father. To visit his grave, at least once, before we would start the rehearsals. I will need strength for what is to come… whatever it is.
I can´t sleep. Ever since the night of the masquerade, I constantly fear he might come for me and steal me away back into his dark world. Moreover, I fear that I shall remain trapped there forever, not because of his cruelty, but because of my inability to reject him completely and utterly. Imprisoned by my lingering pity and ever-growing fascination, I need guidance more than ever.
Early in the morning, I sneak past Raoul – the poor fellow had fallen asleep on "watch duty", as he calls it, but I don't blame him. He is as nervous as I, concerned for my safety far more than he would admit to anyone. I slip past him quietly, only a cloak wrapped over my nightgown, as I go down to secure a carriage to the cemetery.
The driver, an aged and stubby man, accepts the money and politely inquires where I wish to go. I tell him of the cemetery and return to the building to change. In the nearest vase, fresh roses catch my eyes. each has an identical satin black ribbon tied around it finely, with almost frightening precision. When one withers, I find a new one. Each day, there are more.
Dressed all in black, I return to the carriage. My mind is far away, however, all I notice is that the driver is wrapped in a black cloak, and even that thought enters my thinking very briefly before disappearing again.
"To my father´s grave, please." I say tonelessly, in a hollow voice. I receive no reply, but for a moment feel eyes on me, as if he was wondering why I would choose a morning like this for a journey to the cemetery. Nevertheless, I feel the horses start galloping through the snow.
The journey could have taken a few minutes or possibly several days – I know not and care not. In the back of my mind, music sounds again. music I have not heard for months, and I desperately try to shut it out of my mind.
In sleep he sang to me…
In dreams he came…
That voice which calls to me…
And speaks my name…
Is it possible to be disloyal to a man simply by thinking of another? I refuse to believe that the feelings I hold for the Phantom of the Opera are signs of a romantic love. It is pity, and grief… compassion. Some say compassion is unconditional love. After all I have been through, I am inclined to believe it.
How could one not pity that so much talent, such capacity to do good, would be forever lost to the world, simply because the prejudice the archaic minds of men hold against anyone who is different, be it for good or ill? Almost like a witch-hunt… as if we were still living in the Middle Ages. Almost as if people didn't know that the Lord tells us to be forgiving…
Alone, I descend from the carriage. Snow is underneath my feet, the scene of winter reflecting what is happening inside me. I don't know why I came here… I want to let go, not to mourn anymore, but at the same time, it pains me to abandon what is dear to me. clutching the bouquet of roses in my hands tighter, I begin my journey through the sea of tombs and statues.
X X X
I wake up with a start as some loud sound from bellow reaches me. too late I realize that the door to Christine´s bedroom is ajar, her bed empty. Her nightgown lies there as well – she has left the Opera Populaire. Rushing to the window, I come just in time to see a carriage with black horses and a dark-clad driver leave, like Charon who is taking a soul down to Hades.
That itself is an ill omen, and I immediately race downstairs, only to find an aged man rubbing the back of his head, as if he had been hit there, hard. Despite my haste, I realize with horror that it probably is the former owner of the departed carriage.
His reply to my query of the carriage´s destination doesn't ease my thoughts, even though I am quite certain where to look for Christine. Hopefully, my fears are unfounded, and the creature doesn't have a large head start. Hopefully, the carriage will indeed stop at the cemetery, and not continue its journey… wherever he could take my beloved Christine.
The thought of her, defenseless, at his mercy, grants me a newfound strength. The cold evaporates, though I am lightly clad, as I seize a white stallion and ride as fast as possible to the Perros graveyard.
X X X
My heart is breaking at the sight in front of me.
Alone she wanders in the cool of winter´s chill, white as the snow underneath her feet, her eyes heavy with suppressed tears. Her hands tremble even as she walks, her soft voice shaking slightly with emotion. The image of grief, that is how I see her now. Grief in its utter perfection.
Far away from anyone, my power over her might prove stronger than her ties to anything else. Here, there isn´t anyone to twist her thoughts and implant falsehoods into her naïve mind. The graveyard is silent, and the only figures around are the angels of stone surrounding her. She is undoubtedly the fairest of them. Her place is not on this earth, but among the heavens.
She sings a mourning song, slowly passing other tombs and graves, her eyes lingering on the statues, but her mind elsewhere, wandering… finally, she reaches the monumental mausoleum dedicated to Gustave Daaé. By then, I have had quite enough time to prepare myself for her arrival and create once more the illusion of the Angel of Music, though now there is no mirror I can hide behind.
Wandering child
So lost, so helpless
Yearning for my guidance…
As soft as I can manage, restraining myself from rushing to her at once, I call to her from my hiding place. With satisfaction, I watch her head quickly rise at the sound of a familiar voice, but there is uncertainty, anxiety in her reply.
Angel or father?
Friend or Phantom?
Who is it there, staring?
Her gaze searches for me, but I am well hidden. Quietly, slightly sadly, I sing back to her.
Have you forgotten your Angel?
At this final confirmation, she immediately struggles to stand up, her face lighting up. Only I know how to form such happiness on her face through the simplest of gestures. She reacts quickly, now desperate.
Angel, oh speak!
What endless longings
Echo in this whisper?
Slowly, carefully, my voice draws her closer to the tomb. The lights within ignite themselves – I have had more than enough time to prepare.
Too long you´ve wandered in winter…
Far from my far-reaching gaze…
A light frown appeared on Christine´s face – she was clearly struggling between the loyalty to her fiancé and the yearning to see her Angel again. and here and now, I was quite certain which impulse would win.
Wildly my mind beats against you…
Yet the / your soul obeys!
Angel of Music!
I´ve / You´ve denied me!
Turning from true beauty!
Angel of Music!
My protector/ Do not shun me!
Come to me
Strange Angel!
At that very moment, all of her resistance crumbled. No longer able or willing to resist, she mechanically moved towards the tomb. The doors swung open as she approached, like welcoming arms. In a matter of moments, she would be mine…
I am your Angel of Music…
Come to me, Angel of Music…
"Wait!" A voice bellowed from behind her, "Christine, wait!"
Gritting my teeth, my eyes followed the white stallion and its rider that came into view. Christine, mere feet away from the tomb, seemed to break free of the trance and quickly turned to the boy, completely bewildered.
"Raoul!"
"Whatever you may believe, this man, this… thing… is not your father!" the boy said desperately, clutching her shoulders, trying to wake her up, it seemed. "Let her go! For God's sake, let her go!" he called, presumably to me.
I couldn't take this anymore. The boy would not ruin this attempt. Menacingly, I'm certain, I stepped out from my hiding place, a twisted grin on my face as I called out to the boy: "Bravo, Monsieur! Such spirited words!"
Whipping out a pike with a skull-shaped end, I shoot a fireball at him without further ado.
X X X
For the first time, I saw my adversary up close. Though I despised the very thought of him, I had to admit that Le Fantôme de L´Opera in his full glory was quite the sight. He was a tall raven-haired man in clothing worthy of a very wealthy nobleman, half of his face covered by a strange porcelain-white mask. Underneath it, I could se two cat-like yellow eyes gleaming at me eerily.
The first fireball was a warning shot – I could read it in those strange eyes. Leave her or die. They said clearly. Well, I would rather die than leave Christine, so I stalked towards him, attempting to be fearless on the outside. I knew that while he might have been far older than myself, the Phantom also looked more agile than myself.
"More tricks, Monsieur?" I asked, trying to remain calm. I was on the verge of drawing my rapier, really. He was infuriatingly calm, almost amused. I could see that he was fighting the impulse to laugh in my face, clearly thinking that I was no challenge for him.
"Let´s see, Monsieur, how far you dare go!" He challenged, beckoning me closer. For the first time, I noticed that while he was enraged and clearly every inch as dangerous as Madame Giry had described him during out meeting, his voice was nothing short of divine.
When the ballet mistress rescued me from the mirror room, I pressed her for answers. She gave some… clearly, she knew the Phantom. She actually knew his name. Erik, she said he was called. Surname either forgotten or never received.
Born near Rouen, he traveled across Europe and Asia since the age of eleven, first with his gypsy captors after he ran away from home, then alone. Served the shah of Persia for a few years before the ruler decided he knew too much and could create even more spectacular things for other rulers that would reward him far more richly. Returned to France, helped build the Opera… became the Opera Ghost, for he no longer desired company.
Until he heard - and saw - Christine…
"More deception! More violence!"
"Raoul, no!" Christine shrieked. Whether because she didn't want me hurt of because she didn't want him hurt was hard to tell.
"That's right, that's right, Monsieur keep walking this way!" the Phantom jeered, the fireballs landing right in front of me. he clearly didn't mean to hit me, only scare me and made me turn away. I didn't.
"You can't win her love by making her your prisoner!" I yelled. For the first time, he seemed to freeze momentarily.
"Raoul, don't…!"
"Stay back!" I called to Christine. That broke his hesitation completely, and the fireballs were missing me only by inches now.
"I'm here, I'm here, Monsieur: the Angel of Death! Come on, come on, Monsieur! Don't stop, don't stop!" he jeered. As if we were playing some fun game, really.
"Raoul! Come back!" Christine rushed towards me and pulled me away just as I was almost at the Phantom´s feet. I decided to comply this time, and we dashed away, pulling the stallion with us as we raced through the gravestones.
"DON´T GO!" A desperate but still divine voice bellowed into the blizzard. But we held each other tightly, ignoring it just like the wind, and immediately left.
X X X
I remained standing there, frozen, though not by the weather. She left… she left on her own accord… she pulled the boy back… it could have all been over now, she wouldn't have done it if she… if she…
My world darkened as if a giant shadow had fallen upon it. all the joy and grief I felt when I saw her seemed to evaporate, leaving only a burning anger that could turn into a murderous rage very, very soon.
"So be it." I spat quietly, whispering, "Now let it be war upon you both."