Hi, everyone. I'm new to the PotO section of and beg for your indulgence with such an odd first fanfiction. Okay, summary: Two years after the 'novel' was published, you find yourself obsessed with the figure of Erik, the operaghost.You travel to the ruins of the Paris Opera House and are informed of the location of Christine, now Vicomtess de Chagny. She has salvaged a machine that allows you to travel time and visit Erik...WebberLeroux.
"Why do you want him?" The old crone asks. You frown. Perhaps 'crone' was too strong a word. She had been pretty. You had seen a picture from your research. Lovely voice...of course, even sopranos grow old. Her disappearance had at least given her mystery.
"He belongs with me." You say. "I understand you can give him to me in a way that would have perhaps made your life easier..."
It was now her turn to frown. "Madame, I can't do that."
"You used to use his machine to visit him." Your eyes slide to focus on her. But she isn't looking at you. The room is filled with broken mirrors, musical instruments...mementos. "Mademoiselle Daaé , I have searched for you.."
"Vicomtess de Chagny." She corrects, her voice curt but her eyes misty, staring at his things. When you had first heard of the story of the Phantom, told at the ruins of the Opera house by that strange man, M. Leroux, Christine the vicomtess had seemed the only person to consult. Rumors of a great machine had followed any mention of the so-called opera ghost but only M. Leroux knew its location. He didn't think it relevant to his book, so he had left it out.
Glaring, you continue. "Vicomtess, I have searched for you. I know you have found a way to travel that brings people back..."
"I do not bring them back. I go to them. And I will not visit him again."
"Say it!" You demand. "His name."
She turns, bitterness in smooth movements. "I don't speak of the dead."
"Erik." You say for her. "That unseen genius...architect, musician, opera ghost, man you shunned for the fop who bought your home...my brilliant Erik."
"You speak of him so fondly." Christine stands up, moving to your side of the table. For a moment, you expect her to ask you to leave, but then you see she carries with her a key. She walks to the wall, feeling it. She traces a rectangle, pushing its middle. It opens. A door.
"Who am I to separate fondness? Who am I to separate you, who have only heard one side of the story, from your Erik?" She whispers the last phrase, turning the key into what you had mistaken for a decoration, so low you cannot be sure you heard it. "Your Erik, my master..."
In a flash, you are transported. Your clothing has changed, dancer's tights clinging to your waist, hair done up, twirling in time with a row of young women. Candles illuminate the stage. The music of an orchestra plays in front of you, a grand audience behind them. Il Muto, you recognize. You are dancing the third act ballet of Il Muto.
Your eyes float to the rafters. You hear nothing over the music and the flicker above can be nothing more than a shadow. Your feet shift without thought.
Then...there it is. The shadows multiply aboveyou, the sound of heavy breathing echoing quietly, drown out by the orchestra. Two men, you think, remembering all that you have heard and connecting it. There are two men fighting above you. One of them is him...you are hearing him! Your heart races, and you are a step ahead. One of the girls next to you glances angrily.
You stick your tongue out at her and look up again. Him! You can see him, struggling with a tubby stage-shifter. His cape swirls, white mask standing out in the darkness of the near-ceiling. Your mouth drops as he wraps a noose around his opponent's neck. His opponent...Joseph Buquet. Yes, you know that name.
Then, in horror, you remember from where. Your brow furrows in concern, tears of pity for the fate of the man above you. Damnable Christine...you think. Erik killed Joseph for that damnable Christine.
Through your tears, you stare at Erik...and find that he is staring at you! Strangling the large man, but gaze cast downward. He smirks.
Suddenly, your eyes dry. Everything falls into place. Your steps even, your hands moving gracefully at your side. Only...you cannot look away! Inside you wish to scream 'Erik, no!' but he has silenced you.
'Watch me, child.' He mouths, pulling the noose taught. Buquet's face bulges, filthy sweat streaming down his face. Your own throat aches from watching him, but the music quickens, causing you to dance faster...faster...
Buquet falls.
Even as he drops, you cannot take your eyes off Erik. The girls surrounding you shriek, dash off the stage in fear. Only you remain, you gazing into the rafters at that masked specter, a laughing god. You and the struggling mass hanging from above.
'He's still alive.' Erik's lips move. He points. Buquet flails like a fish, rope catching inches from the floor. You feel yourself wanting to move to him, but remain motionless, attentions turned to your god.
Erik's chortles, already inaudible, cease. 'Finish him.'
Finally. An order. Your hands unfurl the rope from Buquet's neck. He looks at you, grateful, purple lines throbbing where the noose had been. Looks deeply into your eyes, helpless rat. Vermin. Your nostrils flare and you throw the rope back around him.
You are a puppet, obedient to the marionette above.
You strangle Buquet. His hands fly to your wrists. The audience gasps, but Erik's approval rains down, peals of laughter like death bells. You continue until Buquet goes limp, head striking the floor.
Two men clench your arms, hatred and shock written on the faces of everyone you look at, backstage and front. The spell has been broken and again you are in control. You now comprehend what you have done. As they carry you away, you shout the very name wise Christine had been too afraid to even murmur.
"Erik!"
But all he does is laugh.
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"Do you see now?" The vicomtess, Christine, says, rescuing you. You blink. Broken mirrors reflect your shaking frame. You're back. "Do you see?"
You shake your head.
"He's there." Christine's lips twitch, speaking more to herself than you. "Even after death. One look at him and he's there. Inside your mind. Your master."
You shake your head again.
"Mastermind."
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