Fluer de Lis
Chapter 1
Tear me down.
What is to become of me, she is gone. He thought as he walked slump shouldered down the Rue de solil recalling the last moments of happiness he would ever glimpse. He decided it had to be over with. The pain in his chest constricting his very soul. He was done worrying what society would say about him. He was weary with the fight it took to try to be what he was expected to be. He was not going to help humanity ever again. They didn't want it, they didn't need it. They didn't appreciate the beauty he tried to give them. Lord knows he knew how important beauty and perfection was to society, had he not lived his entire life being painfully aware of it. How the absence of either element would cause fear and hatred. Even from a mother.
He was sick and tired of the whole business of life. He decided it was time to go somewhere truly alone and think about what he could do to get back at life for all its cruelty. That was all there was left, the flip side of love, hate. He hated all mankind, he would see they all suffered. It had to be. Being forced to hide from the mob of frenzied humanity out to end his life. When they finally left, believing he was gone, he re-entered his residence by the lake. There was the automatic response of gathering some things to wear against the weather and leave there forever. In automatic the entire time, his thoughts growing darker by the minute, he placed his wig and mask upon his head. Proceeding to the cabinet in his room, Erik unconsciously retrieved his warmest clothing in preparation for his exposure to the dark cold night. There was no plan, nowhere to go, just the certainty that he was destined to this end, Christine had shown him that, painfully, with a kiss. A kiss, to seal the fate of many. Could she have ever possiblyknown what incredible power she truly held? He coiled around himself and began to weep once more. He was in such physical pain over her betrayal. It was not possible to go on like this, he had to purge her from his mind. He would have to or he would never survive to repay her betrayal. That would be a pity, to let her win so completely, with that silly brat she went away with. Somehow he really thought that she would not go, when she returned he thought she would stay, but she gave him the ring and left. He shuddered, the grief visible on his whole self, he was in complete physical and mental pain, he had no idea, with all his vast knowledge, how to stop this. How pathetic he would have looked to any bystander. He had to get to some place quiet and alone, to work through this pain and agony. But where? Where could he go that they were not hunting for him, thirsting for his blood, his unmasked head on a platter. Now he was blaspheming, comparing himself to John the Baptist. He felt many similarities to him at this time, though. Maybe God was trying to tell him something.
Walking on he met the outskirts of town with his soul torn in two. He decided to get off the road and walk down the field he found coming to life before him. He could get lost there and maybe he would be able to work on deciding what he would do next. It was impossible to figure out what the mind could not comprehend at this time. He was so on automatic that he was very surprised when he arrived at the doorstep of the monastery. He looked at the cross and the words of the building chuckling under his breath, "So, what are you trying to tell me. I say that I am going to show no mercy on mankind anymore, and you are taking me to a monastery as an answer. This is the worst case of irony I have ever seen if you don't count what Christine did to me back at the Populaire. How do I go on, what do you want of me, you want me to become a Priest? Like the faithful would ever come to me for anything but hate, more likely fear would scare them all away from your church. It would be too ironic for words." Then he got an idea, maybe God wanted him to realize he was real and maybe he could do some good as a monk. Even if he didn't go as far as to become anything, he would be able to be alone and consider what he wanted to do. Maybe he could write masses and return to the music of his youth. His youth, was he ever really a youth? It seemed impossible to believe it. He always had such anguish that it was really incredible to think for a moment that he was a boy when that all started. He decided to see what awaited him on the other side of that door, so he knocked and waited.
A/N- This was an idea I came up with when I was thinking about the furthest I could go from the storylines currently in play. I am once again writing about Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera Phantom and Christine, as well as Susan Kay's portrayal of Erik and Andrew Lloyd Webber's version as well. I am visualizing the wonderful actors of the movie version, giving credit to Gerard Butler, Emmy Rossum and Patrick Wilson. They are truly an inspirational triangle of actors. It is with much respect to the original story that I am trying to humanize and realize just how the workings of Erik's mind were motivated. I don't believe that he was intentionally a homicidal or obsessive person, it was merely circumstance and rearing of oneself without human contact or compassion which created his distorted views, Christine being his wake up call to the actuality of humanity and allowing his conscience to awaken.
I give her character much credit for that purpose, and imagine his redemption as a result of compassion on others parts. This is a story of one such redemption, hence the title Fluer de Lis, or Flower of life, or Flower to the light, either one being redemption in Erik's world. Hope you will like it, your reviews or lack of reviews will determine whether I go on with this story or not. So, please don't be shy, if you think it sucks, please tell me. If you are curious and want to read more, let me know that too. Please? Thank you so much for your support on my other two attempts. I am feeling more confident now, and promise this will have a different flavor, though it will end with a good Erik, not an evil one. Though there will be a touch of evil, can't have one with out the other, right? If I write it, that is. Let me know, again, Merci… Your further indentured writer, Marykate.