A/N: This story opens up uncharted territory for me. It's the first time I've ventured anywhere near E/OW and my first attempt at an OC. But even with that said, I've thrown in quite a few surprises in here that should provide ample entertainment in the weeks to come. The last thing I plan to do is create another cliched Erik-saves-injured-girl-in-his-cellars-and-she-happens-to-have-a-gorgeous-voice-and-helps-Erik-forget-all-about-Christine knock-off.
Rated "T" for a slight squik factor. If you are at all squeamish, consider yourself forewarned.
Fatihful readers of "Labyrinth", fear not! I have not abandonned that story and have actually almost finished the next chapter. But the muse simply demanded that I get this story into writing. And I can guarantee that updates for this fic will come much quicker, it shouldn't be more than a couple of chapters and I've already written about half of it.
Disclaimer: Not mine, except Theresa.
Endless gratitude for beta-extraordinare Le Chat Noir for all her aid in both beta-ing and coming up with plot ideas!
.o.o.o.o.o.o..
Infection
Chapter 1
It had been four weeks.
Four long, empty, mind-numbing weeks spent riffling through the scraps of what had once been his home. Pieces of pipe organ, scraps of lush Persian velvet, and chunks of stone mixed indiscriminately amongst the rubble as the waters of the lake lapped ceaselessly against the blackened stone and sand of the shore.
He had made a new mask out of scraps of cloth and leather, whatever he could find. It sat in all its patchwork glory across the full of his face, leaving only his eyes, mouth and chin visible. He had learned at last that the size of the infection had never mattered--it cursed his entire being.
He had not emerged from the shelter of his ruined domain for these four weeks. He did not allow any news of the other world to reach his ears. The only way he knew the length of time that had passed was by watching the rate at which the candles providing him with dim, guttering light burned down their lengths. But even those soon dwindled in supply and eventually he faced the inevitable task of venturing up a few levels to collect more from the storerooms.
He thought nothing of the people that he might encounter once there. His world had very handily dwindled down to the most basic of his needs. Food, water, a snatched breath of sleep. Even music was a fond but distant memory. It was a pleasantly painless way to live.
He returned from the storerooms with boxes of candles and some food in his arms. He had seen no one on his journey, and he blithely ignored the gnawing disappointment in his chest. He had barely taken two turns when he heard the noise.
It was a muffled, hoarse cough followed by a wheezing breath that sounded as if it were being dragged over sandpaper. The sound came from the ground. Unbidden, his hand tightened around the Punjab lasso within his cloak, even though he knew from the start that the sound was clearly made by something with no capacity to harm him.
There was no light. He had long ago memorized the tunnels of his labyrinth so that he could walk them blind at will. He took one of the candles from the box and lit it, allowing the flare to fill his vision before the light shrunk to the tiny flickering flame of the candle. There was a raw gasp and the sound of an arm being thrown over a face.
He brought the candle down and the light revealed to him a figure huddled on the ground with its back to the wall. It was dressed in baggy clothing appropriate to an indiscriminate sex. The candlelight reflected brightly in the eyes that peeked around the hand over the face.
An intruder, he thought…an intruder who should even now tremble at being discovered by the monstrous Phantom of the Opera. Four weeks was not nearly long enough for them to forget about him. He would tremble and scream, or curse him, and remind him once again that he had not yet become enough of a shadow to avoid being hated by the world still…
"What the hell are you doing here?" The voice was labored and slightly metallic, although he could still hear a residual musical clarity. It was unmistakably female. It was angry.
He sucked in a quick breath as fury surged through his blood. "Excuse me?" He had not spoken for four weeks but no one would have known if they had heard those ice-cold words slip from his lips, as fluid as poison.
"You're dead. Your gruesome end is all over the papers. You're dead and I'm…" she gave an experimental cough. "I'm not…yet."
"That can easily be arranged," he hissed sibilantly, letting the tailored malice in his voice mask his growing nervousness. Who the devil was this woman, helpless in his domain, and mad enough not to fear him? Well, she wasn't mad--the glint in her eyes told him that much.
Below her hand, her lips cracked a smile, a subtle movement that he could barely see in the dim light. "Be my guest…sir."
And she lifted her hand away from her face.
The candle trembled in his grasp, but he managed to steady it as he took a step back. His stomach twisted within his gut.
The woman's skin was a mottled shade of grey, green, and black. The sickly colors appeared to radiate from an enormous wound on the right side of her face, clumsily stitched together and showing signs of cracking open. Her veins stood out in sharp relief against the unnatural colors, pulsating softly against the stretched skin. Only the eyes were untouched, they were piercing and wide open, reflecting black in the candlelight.
He had been silent for only two seconds but in that time he knew that he had been staring. She smirked and the effect on her face was ghastly. "You are welcome to bring me to Death, monsieur Phantom, but I would rather He came to get me himself. It's a pretty sight, isn't it? But I wouldn't worry, Phantom, it's not contagious."
He cursed himself as he took another involuntary step back.
"But would it matter if I infected you, Phantom?" She inhaled a wheezing breath. "It has been weeks since I last saw your face. Is it more horrendous than the sight you see here?" She smirked again, and laughed, a sound unhinged and pitying at the same time, and something inside of him screamed.
He turned and fled down the passageway.