Some of you might remember me. Meh - I doubt it!
Anyway, this is a one shot phanphic I just wrote. It's actually going to be my english project. My teacher is asking us to write a short story about anything we want. I came home and brainstormed ideas I might want to write about. Of course, half of them happened to be related to "Phantom of the Opera", and this idea just really seemed to sound fun. It's short, it's simple, and it's sweet.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with The Phantom of the Opera. Happy now?
Summary: Five years after the night of Don Juan, Erik takes a walk only to come across someone familiar. . . but younger.
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Erik walked the streets stealthily; no sound from his quick paced feet permeated the unbearable Paris night silence. The silence soon we be over, though, for dawn was just breaking. Already a few strips of golden and red tinged clouds were rising in the east, welcoming the fresh autumn day languidly.
This did not gain his attention, however, for Erik's thoughts were well elsewhere in the forever mystery of the mind. Hibernating in his lair didn't seem as exciting as it had a few hours ago, so he embraced this rare change in spirit and hurried outside for a brisk walk. The walks during the morning when no one was out - when there were no hungry eyes to devour his unusual mask - always gave him the tiniest sense of belonging and serenity. To be out in the open air was enough to make him feel slightly more human.
But a human he'd never be. Erik knew he was destined to be a monster; to be the infamous murderer by the name of "The Phantom of the Opera". No one would cherish his life and no one would mourn him when he dies.
How amusing, Erik thought bitterly as he turned into a tight alley way near the edge of the city, that something so small could change the life of a man. How strange that just one accidental gruesome disfigurement of the entire being could condemn a man to a life of pain and suffer; to a life with no love.
Erik growled and willed his mind to turn away from his self hatred as his steps became harsher and faster. This willing didn't help, though, because the only other part of life he thought about was Christine.
The thought of Christine five years ago would have brought Erik down onto his knees, have him stretch his arms out to the sky, and cry for hours upon hours. He would have willed God to be merciful and take his soul, but as usual God didn't listen to a mere creature's pleas. Instead Erik continued to grovel in his own hatred. Not hatred towards Christine for leaving him or Raoul for winning Christine's heart, but towards himself for not realizing before the night of Don Juan how monstrous he had been being.
No. Erik had cried all tears his body would ever make and had exorbitantly experienced all negative emotions one could ever imagine. All that was left of him was an emotionally drained man who was slowly loosing the battle for life and slipping gratefully into the world of death. In those five years he had become less than a man - less than a creature. He was like a wraith; not quite dead, yet not quite alive.
Sighing and staring ahead, Erik thought of the warm smile he had seen Christine use multiple times when he had taught her through the mirror. He remembered her radiating beauty, her quite and peaceful demeanor, her voice.
Oh God! That voice!
Erik cursed under his breath as he turned onto another street and recalled the angelic voice of Christine. She was perfect at singing in every possible way as if born in heaven itself. Even after five years Erik clearly remembered her pure voice singing all sorts of tunes. They were his bittersweet lullabies when he craved sleep and a faint source of comfort when there was nothing else for Erik to rely on. But with her voice gone, with her whole being gone from his life, Erik had no inspiration for making music.
For the past five years he had suffered by the sudden and painful lack of musical inspiration. He was her muse and he had lost her. Now when ever he tried to play the organ or violin, glass shattering chords like the ones beginning children play would reverberate throughout his lair and drive him insane. Finally he had shut the cap over the keys and locked the violin case shut, vowing never to play another note of music.
Five years were over now and instead he was walking the deserted streets of Paris as rapidly as possible. The people were just beginning to stir and many craftsmen were opening their shops and starting to work on the current day's items. Sensing that his safe time was coming to an end, Erik turned on his heal in a flash of deep black and headed toward the clutter of the still destroyed Opera House.
His home.
Fitting that only a ghost would live in ruins such as these, Erik mused as he was about to turn a corner that would lead him to a secret back way entrance.
Before he turned, though, he heard a large crash, screams, and a horse neigh from the street. Instinctively, Erik pressed himself up in the shadows, poised his hand comfortingly over his punjab lasso, and listened intently. It didn't take much straining of the ears to hear the large curse that echoed around the corner, though.
"DAMN!" a man's voice shouted. Erik's eye brows drew together slightly. The voice was strangely familiar.
"What happened?" asked a feminine voice. Erik's eyes widened. Oh, dear God no. . . he thought helplessly.
"The wheel broke," the man responded.
"But we've hardly even gone anywhere!" Erik shook his head now, hands limply at his side, as he steadied himself against the wall, his breathing harsh and irregular. Not now!
"I'm surprised too, Christine. I thought this carriage would be fitting for our long trip also."
Erik couldn't take it. Christine Daae, the women he once fantasized about, was around the corner with her husband, Raoul de Changy, with a broken down stagecoach. Suppressing down a new urge to scream, Erik turned around to find a different way to an entrance of the Opera House ruins. He was stopped, however, in the most unlikely way he imagined.
"Excuse me, Monsieur, but you seemed to have dropped this."
The voice was not a wealthy man's voice, nor was it an angelic women's voice. It was instead the sweetest little voice he had ever witnessed. Curiosity overcame his common sense and he turned around to see what was the object of his inquisitiveness.
Erik gasped at the sight he beheld before him, his head getting dizzy.
In front of him stood a little girl, no more than four, holding his handkerchief up to him. The surprising factor, however, was that this girl was the perfect miniature of Christine with doe eyes and brown, luscious tendrils of curls. The only difference was that the girl had sparkling blue eyes instead of chocolate, showing that she was also the daughter of Raoul de Changy.
Hesitantly, Erik came forward and plucked the handkerchief out of her hand. She beamed up at him happily, but soon frowned, chewing her bottom lip as she stared at his mask.
"What's that?" she asked pointing to his mask and making Erik flinch at the bluntness.
"It's a mask."
"Why do you wear a mask?" she questioned. Erik cursed the girl's unusual persistence.
"So I don't scare people," he faintly answered.
"Why would you scare people?" Erik sighed in annoyed amazement at the girl's insightfulness before kneeling down next to her.
"I was born with a deformation and it scares people."
The little girl cocked her head and looked curiously at the mask, her eye brows knitted together.
"It must get awfully hot and icky with it on, though," she noted. Erik raised his visible eyebrow before chuckling slightly.
"Yes, it does get tiring."
Erik unconsciously touched his mask while he spoke, his eyes slipping past her head and seeming to stare at nothing. The girl, unsure of herself, tried to think of another topic to discuss.
"What's your name?"
Erik blinked.
His name? Since when had anyone cared about his name? Since when had anyone cared about him?
"My. . . My name?" Erik managed to stammer out, surprised. "It's, um, Erik."
Telling his name to another human being some how made Erik feel more at peace; it made him feel more like human being.
"I am Angéle de Changy," she said proudly before dipping into a low and klutzy curtsey making her almost topple over if it hadn't been for Erik's steadying hand.
For the first time in God knows how many years, Erik smiled a real genuine smile. Angéle, he pondered joyously. Angel. They picked the perfect name for such a little gem.
Erik was about to ask her something when a voice rang out from around the corner.
"Angéle darling! Where are you? Oh, Raoul! Where did she go!"
Swiftly and without thinking, Erik got up and turned to leave, but a small fist holding fast onto his pant's material held him back.
"Wait! Don't go Erik!"
Erik melted then in there as he heard such a small beauty say his name flawlessly. He turned around, smiling sadly and knelt once again so as to be the same height as Angéle.
"Angéle, I'm in quite a hurry to go home."
"Where do you live?"
"Around here," Erik stated vaguely, waving his hand at no where in particular. Angéle's all knowing eyes stared into his once more.
"Well maybe I could visit you."
"I don't think your parent's would like you to visit a stranger, Angéle," Erik said sadly, ruffing her unruly curls gently. Angéle bit her lip (which Erik had noticed was a bad habit of hers) and appeared to be thinking furiously.
"Well. . . Perhaps you could meet my parents and make friends with them. Then I'll be allowed to visit you!"
Angéle beamed at her brilliant idea where as Erik smiled wistfully. If only it could be that simple, Erik thought. He knew better, though. If he even was faintly spotted by Raoul or Christine, Hell would surely break loose.
"Your parents and I aren't on very good terms, Angéle," Erik stated vaguely once again. "If they were to see me, they'd be in pain, and you don't want your parents in pain, do you?"
Angéle shook her head negatively, pouting slightly.
They stared at each other, then, with a gentle understanding and acceptance. In such a short amount of time Erik had come to deeply love the little girl, and unbeknownst to him, the girl had also become to think of him as an unlikely uncle.
Hurried footsteps along the other street broke their trance, though, and Erik immediately stiffened. After a quick decision, he used his supreme magician skills, plucked a perfect red rose out of thin air which produced a gasp of glee from Angéle, and deftly put it in her hair. He made sure that the ribbon fell down onto her front so that it's deep black would stand out vividly on her pure white dress.
"Good bye, mon ange," Erik said desolately.
Then with a flash of his black cloak, Erik had disappeared from Angéle's sight. She gasped and ran forward, searching desperately for the man she had just been talking to. Instead of finding him, though, she found a lone white piece of cloth on the ground.
His handkerchief.
A tear leaked out of her eye as she picked it up, holding it tightly in her fist and sitting down in the place where the man had just been standing. She remembered his kind words, his strange white half-mask, his slightly uncomfortable yet friendly demeanor, but most of all, Angéle remembered his eyes. Even in her young age, the keen girl knew that those two orbs carried a sorrowful depth unlike any other human has ever held.
Just as she sat down, a frazzled looking Christine came around the corner and spotted her.
"Oh, Angéle! Never run off from us like that every again."
Christine pulled Angéle into a rib cracking hug and Angéle soon forgot about Erik's eyes. Raoul who was walking up noticed the white handkerchief in Angéle's hand. He checked his own pocket and noticed he still had his.
"Angéle, darling. Where did you get that handkerchief?"
Immediately their daughter's eyes lit up.
"Oh, mama! I just made a friend!" Angéle said as Christine put her into Raoul's arms so he could hug her.
"Really? Who's your new -"
But Christine's unfinished question was answered when she saw the all too familiar rose in Angéle's hair. The black ribbon cascading down her front was enough proof for Christine.
Unbeknownst to all three, Erik watched from the safety of the shadows far along the road, as Christine spotted Angéle's present. She immediately blanched and grasped the nearby wall for support. Raoul noticed, too, and became very rigid, immediately searching the street for Erik. Erik simply melted even deeper into the shadows and watched Raoul's eyes slip over his perfectly hidden body.
Angéle didn't seem to notice her parents strange new behavior and instead rambled on about the new friend she made. Then, when she claimed that her friends name was Erik and that he had called her "my angel", Christine promptly fainted.
Erik couldn't help but smirk smugly at the power he still had over Christine and Raoul, but his face considerably softened when his eyes rested on the youthful face of Angéle.
It was amazing what beautiful youthful innocence can do to a ravaged sorrowful man.
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Hope you enjoyed! Please review!