'Kay, Just a memo…Um, my first POTO fic, so be tolerant. I was inspired to make the action a little slow, so also be patient. Erik will soon appear, so have faith, good comrades!
The absolutely delicious Gerard Butler as Erik pants like a love-struck dog my. God. He's . YUMMY! (I would say more, but I'm being censored)
Everybody in the 2004 movie is in this in their respective roles. The Phantom has green eyes. Not gold, not blue, not any other color except green with gold flecks. Deal. Some blasphemous little nits have him with blue eyes. AAARRRGGGHHH! This drives me insane…which is silly because I'm already Insane…heh heh.
I don't own the characters groans but I am doomed to be their obedient slave for ETERNITY!
Anywho, nativedreamer, you rock my socks! You're phantastic!
Anyway, please read and review, because in my fading self-esteem, I may kill myself and not update! Then you'd be sad. MWAHAHAHAHA! Flames welcome! I'm just lonely and need someone to talk to me, even if they rant!
And will I write again, for now I find…The fanfic that I'm writing as I sing
Is in my mind…
It was cold. Too cold for September. A thick coating of frost covered every surface, rendering the world in spotless white. Two figures strode through the Paris alleyways, their feet making crunching noises that pierced the still air.There was a blond and a brunette, walking side by side. The chestnut-haired beauty was almost abnormally tall, voluptuous and unspeakably graceful in her every movement. She wore a dress of the finest silk, colored pink, and cut to expose an expanse of lily-white bosom framed by ribbons and lace. Her lips were crimson and full, and her thick, generous lashes framed reddish brown eyes that now were flashing with unsuppressed cruelty at her companion.
The other girl was almost a polar opposite of the woman who gripped her wrist in her crimson nailed hand so fiercely. Her hair, which fell in a greasy, filthy braid to her midcalf might have been the rich color of antique gold if anyone had cared to wash it. Her left eye was a rather startling, icy shade of blue that sparkled like a diamond, and was framed by thick lashes much darker than her hair. He right eye was predominantly green, and her pupil was ringed with a thin layer of hazel. Violet flecks were visible only in certain lights. She was not as tall as her captor, but retained a willowy grace that showed in every movement, and differed from the other's stately stride. She was about five feet four inches tall and was slightly built. Her feet were bare, and she was clad only in a thin, grayish white dress inappropriate for the weather.
They had been traveling for almost a month now, pausing only for sleep. The queen had stayed in the choicest inns, the girl in the choicest refuse heaps. The former was still as rosy and blossoming as ever, but weeks without food had taken a lot out of the latter, and her ribs poked through her dress. There were circles under her eyes, and she walked with the posture of one who bears the weight of the world on their shoulders, and has been doing so for many years.
" Isobel…" said the golden-haired girl to her companion " pardon me for asking, but will we be there soon?"
Isobel cast her a disdainful glance " Adrian, this only proves how stupid you are! We are already here, you idiot!"
Adrian painfully craned her neck to see. The Opera Populaire loomed above her like a gargantuan tree riddled with passageways through which its inhabitants could travel. The white marble steps that led to the door almost glowed in the freezing dark of the night. The golden nudes guarding the entranceway held the now extinguished torches high above the glass paned doors.
Adrian shivered. She would be lucky if she didn't get frostbite; the cold that had seeped into he bones through her thin dress and threatened to consume her if she didn't obey her body's cry for warmth.
" Isobel, please, when will we go inside?"
"Now" Isobel strode to the back of the Opera House with Adrian in tow, giving her a vicious twist of the wrist when she stumbled.
" You must enter the building from this entrance." Said Isobel imperiously, pointing to a drain cover encrusted with filth. "The tunnel will continue to grow smaller as you proceed, but that is no reason why you shouldn't come out alive. I will meet you at the other side. Don't keep me waiting."
Adrian winced, and nodded. There had been a definite threat in that last sentence, and she knew from experience that Isobel always made good on her threats
As Isobel turned to go, the girl called out softly, " Where are you going?"
Isobel sneered. " My presence in such a place as this will not be questioned. Yours on the other hand…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes trailed to the obvious bloodstains on Adrian's sleeves. And with a flash of her lacy petticoats and white fur shawl, she was gone.
Adrian looked at the drain. The rust and grime encrusting it showed that it had not been cleaned in many years, and the rustling sounds and stench rising from the darkness gave a clue as to its contents. But she gritted her teeth, lifted the grate and slipped in.
The stench was almost paralyzing now, and the muck and insects that coated the bottom oozed up over her fingers. There was enough room to stoop, but she knew that she would make it faster if she went on all fours. Not wasting a moment, she began to crawl through the darkness.
She had to stop several times to keep her head and attempt to get her breath in the noxious fumes; she was a little apprehensive of enclosed spaces, but the fear of Isobel's wrath kept her going. As Isobel had said it would, the tunnel got progressively narrower, till she was forced to slither on her stomach, using the weld marks in the slimy metal to push herself along. She was beginning to panic now, and her breath came in quick gasps. The stench choked her, and the inhabitants of the drain were none too pleased by her presence. Cockroaches, silverfish and water beetles scurried through her hair, and the occasional cat-sized rat gave her a nasty bite before going on its way. There came a heart-stopping moment when she ceased to be able to move; the tunnel had become too narrow. She was trapped. Trapped. She was hyperventilating now, her heart beating painfully at her ribs. She would die here, among the rats and the filth, either of suffocation, starvation, or the fear that gripped her like a vice.
No. She had not come this far only to fail. She would not die in a cage! She flung herself spasmodically forward, the ooze serving as a lubricant to propel her, and through some miracle, found herself in a stone passageway, free of the stench and claustrophobic build of the drain.
Isobel was standing primly in the hall, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. " Good, I was beginning to think you had died. Come, I will show you where we are to stay. But be quick and quiet, or you will regret it…"
She turned, and gestured imperiously for Adrian to follow her. They wound their way up and up through the labyrinth, passing rooms where there were joyous parties being held, concerts being played, ballet lessons being dismissed. They finally reached their destination, pausing only so that Isobel could turn a key in the lock.
This part of the Populair was no longer used. Years ago, even before the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, there had been a massive gas leak. The entire building had been evacuated and the gas turned off so those workmen could discover the problem. An entire mile of pipe that ran through the place had been eaten away by some unknown substance. When the old manager had calculated the cost of repair versus the loss of that particular wing, he had decided that the money would be better spent in the construction of the new south wing, and had simply turned off the gas in that section. Since no one wanted to stay in a place without gaslights, the entire wing was abandoned. The room that Isobel had chosen had once been the proud lodgings of the great Sorelli's understudy of some bygone day. There were rich draperies adorning the windows, blood red in color with golden fringe. The simple, minimalist woodwork circling the ceiling was rendered in gold. The furniture consisted of a large rosewood dresser and vanity, a brass bedstead and a gilt mirror that stretched from the floor almost to the ceiling. Although everything in the room was of finest quality, the simple design was soothing on Adrian's nerves. There was a thick coating of dust on every surface, but otherwise, the room was very clean. Isobel strode over to a simple wooden chair, spread her skirts about her, and with a curt nod to Adrian, intoned," Clean this up."
Adrian wanted nothing more than to disobey, to fall into bed, to rest, to disappear into a dreamless sleep, but instead, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. She tore a scrap from her dress and carefully dusted and polished every surface till it gleamed. She unhooked the draperies and dangling them out the window, flapped them fiercely to free them of dust. She did the same with the sheets and blankets on the bed. Oddly enough, there were no carpets on the hardwood floors, and the gleam of the floor's surface was enough that she could see herself in it.
After an hour, the work was done. But the room still remained dark. Isobel provided a solution by procuring candles from the other rooms. Adrian fixed them to the now useless oil lamps, and lighted each one with a book of matches she found in one of the dresser drawers. When she stepped back to view her handy-work, she was greeted by a golden radiance that emanated from every object in the room as the polished materials caught the candle's glow.
Yes, this could possibly be home.
