DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything even remotely affiliated with the Phantom of the Opera including but not limited to: Gaston's book, Susan Kay's book, Andrew Lloyd Webber's Musical works, etc.
Her face was as pale as the winter morning with her blonde curls nestled between two large bows surrounding her porcelain face. She was standing in the midst of the tirade amongst men dressed in military uniforms. Their dark roars to each other tore into the previously calm night. As the house behind her burned to the ground, he could make out faint images of nursemaids and servants being slaughtered in the crisp snowy night. Her face was framed in horror as she looked upon the blood-stained snow. She grasped her doll tightly once more until she let out a muffled scream as an elderly woman, dressed in servant rags, gathered her shaking form into her arms and fled into the night.
The house began to crumble beneath its foundation. The little girl gasped as she saw shreds of the roof plummet onto the ground. A tear streamed down her pale cheek in fear. She did not understand what was happening.
Perched upon the woman's shoulder, the little girl looked back at her home unknowing who had invaded her happy world. She heard her father's voice screaming toward the elderly woman as he was encased in battle. Through the sounds of the swords clashing against each other, she heard him cry, "Elizabeth! I love you! I will always love you!"
Moments later, she saw the sword pierce his flesh and the elderly woman disappeared with her into the darkness.
Erik woke up in a panic with his maskless face drenched in sweat. He looked around his room at the magnificent tapestries which surrendered no answers to the origin of his dreams. Not even the newly wound grandfather clock bared any evidence. The wind had picked up outside and the branches of the overgrown trees were knocking against the auburn shrouded window. The sky was still bleak as the snow began to fall.
Four A.M. He had gotten a whole three hours of sleep. Realizing that this was the most rest he would be getting this night, he lifted himself from the bed and lit a fire. He had resolved himself to the notion that he needed to hire servants as soon as possible to repair the manor. His face sneered as he pressed his finger on the dusty table and examined its contents. Although he felt rather welcome in the musty sinister room, his stubborn snobbish pride would not allow himself to live in such filth.
His mind quickly returned to the dream. Who is this young girl crying in the midst of battle and why am I dreaming about her?
Erik has expected to adhere to his own demons for the night. He had been prepared for another gypsy caravan flashback or even once again feel the sting of rejection from Christine's perfect lips. Erik wanted to forget it all.
He placed his mask upon his face and sought out to find a piano.