Disclaimer: I own nothing but the nameless girl.
This was written in my anger to how lightly it was taken. If it's the tortured screams of innocent souls, you aren't just going to wince or whimper. And I can say confidently that Christine Daae wouldn't have taken it as easily as some have described it unless she was suddenly completely twisted and sadistic. That would be me, and even I can't handle the noise they make.
If Christine or I couldn't take it.. What about a mere preteen?
------------------------------------------------------------------------
She screamed with all that was in her. Tears pouring down her face. She had been able to control it before, but this was just too much. She had undoubtedly caught his attention before. Yes, soft curses when bumping into some hard inanimate object, the sound of papers being moved around as she satisfied her near insatiable curiosity. All seemed harmless to him. So he would continue to play. However, this girl could be unknowingly stealthy. She had entered his lair at precisely the wrong moment.
Right as he had begun playing his life's work.
The real one. Not some romanticized version that the media had put out. No, this was all too real. She had proven her strength before when she had kept silent, but knowing that she was seeing a ghost, knowing that he could still probably kill her even if he was in death himself.. It was too much.
He had been right. And how foolish of her to think anything different! This was possibly the worse mental torture imaginable.
It was nearly unimaginable.
Every problem she'd ever encountered in her life paled terribly in comparison to what treatment she was receiving now.
She fell to her knees and stayed there, hunched over. She was choking on her own tears, gasping for breath as she begged him to stop. Stop before she became just another tortured scream to add into his life's work.
How she hated them all. All the people who underestimated his power, the power of his music. In their stories, in the movies. It was all a lie that had lured her into a false sense of security. Just a few tears? A whimper or two? Yeah, I can handle that! How foolish... How stupid...
It was truly, as horrible as he had described.
Suddenly, it did stop. Suddenly, she almost wished that it hadn't. A rush of cold air. Colder than normal ghosts. The smell of death. He was standing before her, and she suddenly realized why Christine was so afraid.
She gripped at her hair, a voice in the back of her head felt it appropriate that her hands were now level with her eyes.
"Do you like my music, child?" He hissed at her.
She feared for her life when he shifted; but instead jumped when a book hit the floor near her head.
"If you are so interested in it, than learn to play it!"
Gripping the book, she looked in horror at its title.
"Surely you don't mean.." She started. Talking to her fantasy was not on her mind.
No, please! Don't make me go back there!
"Yes," He grinned wickedly.
Erik spun on his heel and left. Leaving the now sobbing girl with her own copy of Don Juan Triumphant.