Nothing has changed since last post, I still don't own The Phantom of the Opera. (No sudden Leroux inheiritence or any passing of copyright laws from ALW, etc.)
Anyway...I hope you enjoy it, I've really enjoyed writing it thus far. My other stories I had mostly finished before posting but this one... oh this one has been so much fun! I even did a little research of my own free will to help with what I could.
And THANK YOU's to: MagickAlainne, Neori, Witchy-grrl, Susie Q, and tomluver123. You guys rock my world, thank you so much for reviewing. I hope I don't fail any of you. :)
Now, onward...
Christine stared at the elegant coverings of her lavish bed. Such opulence she felt she could never entirely adjust to. Sighing heavily, she twisted again as she sought a comfortable position. Turning to her side, Christine glanced around absently. The entire room was shrouded in tones of grey, black, and blue. The normal pale yellow walls took on an eerie glow, reflecting the moonlight pouring through the window that opened up to a small balcony. The door to her private bathroom was partway closed and she could see half of the large bathtub from the sheen of the full moon. Her gaze fell to her closed armoire; Raoul had supplied her with more splendid gowns that she would need in a lifetime and Christine believed many too expensive to wear.
Her thoughts fell to Raoul as she glanced at the faint sparkle from the ring on her finger. She had put off their wedding for three months now; the pressures of becoming a vicomtesse were nearly overwhelming. And with the sudden death of Philippe, becoming a comtesse was no less daunting.
But she admitted to herself that wasn't the real reason she continued to push the wedding date as far from the present as possible. From course of habit, Christine's mind returned to the other man who plagued her thoughts. She chided herself everyday for leaving Erik in the dank catacombs of the Opera Populaire, guilt rising in her chest each time she remembered his voice, his expressive and brilliant eyes, his face. Truly she was not horrified by his disfigurement; she knew what beautiful potential rested in his soul and occasionally graced the world with a small piece of perfection.
Christine vowed she would never be so shallow as to miss Erik's soul again…but then the newsprint had eradicated whatever hope had managed to survive. Christine was shocked that three simple words could cause such heartache; her Angel of Music was dead. She could no longer entertain dreams that he would sneak to the De Chagny estate and steal her away to Nice or Biarritz or Brighton for that matter or other imaginings where she returned to Paris herself to beg his forgiveness and acceptance.
Raising a hand to her lips, her mind flashed back to all the shared emotions and unspoken feelings that had passed between herself and Erik with their first and only kiss. At the time, she had told herself that it was all to save Raoul's life (he was, after all, her fiancé) but it turned into what had frightened her most that unforgettable evening.
Oh, she cared for Raoul—he was the sweetest man any woman could ask for—yet since that night an invisible distance had been set between them, both traumatized from the experience in different ways. Furthermore, Raoul was still rather distraught. Raoul had not taken Philippe's passing well, staying up for nights on end and ignoring his health to a frightening degree all in the name of mourning his brother and father figure; Christine understood her betrothed's grief, recalling back to the death of her own father.
Thoughts of her father only led her back to Erik yet again. She missed him dearly and the music that he'd brought into her life. She'd sung no more than a few unconnected notes since the night she'd last seen him, finding that using the gift he'd helped sculpt was almost painful.
Rotating herself again, she sighed despairingly. Nothing was turning out as Christine had planned her fairy tale ending: her fair knight kept to his side of the castle and she mourned the dragon slain under her hand.
She forced the thoughts from her mind. She had made a promise to Raoul and she swore she would be the best wife she could… she was just in no hurry to get there.
Exhaling deeply after a yawn, Christine hummed a short lullaby that Erik had sung to her long ago before memories started a fresh flood of tears and she cried herself to sleep. Goodnight, Erik. May the angels watch over your soul.
∞†∞
Erik collected his thoughts as best he could considering the bizarre circumstances forced upon him. The strange man paced absentmindedly as he mumbled to himself, apparently still trying to find the right words. Erik watched him carefully, ready to defend himself at any given moment. His focus wandered momentarily as he took in the man's features again; he looked familiar but Erik couldn't place him. Irritated, Erik finally repeated his question, "Who are you?"
The man stopped pacing and turned to look at Erik. "Oh, sorry. I suppose that's likely as good a place as any to begin. My name's Philippe." He held out his hand and Erik only stared at it skeptically, Philippe's attitude entirely foreign to him. "Of course, the Phantom of the Opera is rarely one for pleasantries, yes?" Without waiting for an answer, Philippe retracted his hand and continued to walk back and forth on his path in the snow: "Well, as I was saying before, I have a proposition for you. A unique offer." He turned to face Erik as if expecting a response. "You do know what I am, don't you?"
"Not entirely," Erik replied curtly.
"My, my. And I thought you were clever." Erik glared but made no other response. "Well, obviously I'm a vampire. Does that mean anything to you?"
"There are several conflicting views on what a vampire is supposed to look like and behave, monsieur. You cannot expect me to know them all."
"No, I suppose not. Besides some are rather ridiculous, like garlic. It doesn't bother me more than it does any other man, but I've met a few villagers that were certain it would ward me off." He smiled mischievously. "Little good it did them. But anyway, that's beside the point. I've been drawn to you, Erik, and I'm offering you a chance to join me."
Erik looked blankly at Philippe. "Why me?"
Philippe leaned against the tree where he'd hid earlier. "I can't explain it entirely but it's just part of everything, knowing who to bring to the Circle. And anyway, you're already a creature of the night."
"The Circle?"
Philippe gestured widely, "Not now, not now. We'll get there. Anyway, I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime, of life itself actually. Think about this, would you like to see the world?"
"I've seen much of this world," Erik replied darkly.
"But have you seen all of it? Would you like to see the future, Erik? Would you like to see how Paris evolves through the years? Would you like to compose indefinitely and never worry about physical restrictions again?" To prove his point, Philippe climbed a set of invisible stairs until he was around five feet off the ground. "You've confused an opera house, now you could command a city. I'm offering you eternity."
"How is this possible?" Erik asked with a cool confidence.
The snow muffled the sound as Philippe jumped down. "Now that is the question. No one is quite sure. Are you familiar with English poetry?"
Erik stared questioningly at his comrade, "What? Yes, I suppose so."
"I'll reacquaint you with a little legend then, perhaps you can do your own research. You've heard of Lord Byron, yes?" Erik nodded grudgingly, slightly insulted by Philippe's tone. "Some number of years ago, around 1816 I believe the story goes, he issued a challenge to a few members of his party to write a ghost story. From this, Frankenstein was created and Lord Byron himself started a compilation of vampire legends but it was a man named Polidori who gave a more distinguished image in The Vampyre. His rendition is a little more accurate, he had first hand experience. I could ask him for a copy."
"How? Didn't he commit suicide?"
"I said he had first hand experience, did I not? Oh, the world thinks he's dead but don't they believe the same of you?"
Erik conceded his point.
"So what do you say? You could live the rest of your meaningless days moping around your lair or you can start a new adventure."
"How about I just strangle you and forget you ever imposed upon my privacy?" Erik growled menacingly as he pulled out his ever-ready Punjab lasso. Philippe laughed. Erik's anger blazed; he was mocking him. With the dexterity of years of experience, Erik slipped the noose around his neck and pulled it taunt, successfully interrupting Philippe's laugh.
Despite the pressure on his trachea, Philippe managed to squeak, "Oh, you could try to kill me, Erik, but you won't find it that simple." With that, he dissipated, transmuting back into a mere shadow. Erik found himself holding an empty cord, staring as the indiscernible black re-formed next to him and a hand clutched around his own throat, raising him from the earth. "No, you won't find it that easy." Erik stared with hatred into the man's eyes, his still lit with light humor but now a twinge of anger. "You're fearless, I'll give you that, but your manners are lacking." Philippe tossed Erik aside with an amazing strength that did not seem possible with his size.
Erik stared, incredulous, at Philippe before slowly standing up, brushing off the snow.
"I'm still waiting for an answer. What have you got to lose?"
Erik lowered his head and thought for a moment. "How can I trust you?"
"Does that matter? What do you want to know?"
"How does one achieve these…abilities?"
"There are two ways to join the Circle. Either through a direct invitation, such as this, and the rituals therein or a blood union, but that's a different matter."
"Restrictions?"
"Ah, yes, the restrictions. Stay out of the sunlight, it will kill you. You will have to meet the Circle of course and there may be occasions where you'd be asked to perform some task. I would advise against divulging your secret. Torches and pitchforks always seem to follow. And, yes of course, there's the simple matter of drinking blood to survive, never more than three hours dead; not only does it taste horrible but it may kill you."
"Drink blood?" Erik's eyes widened again. He'd lived surrounded by blood but to depend on it to survive...
"You get used to it. Surely you knew that already, why the shock? That's one aspect all the stories agree on." Philippe shrugged. "I'll teach you everything you'll need to know. So what do you say?"
Erik sat down on the stone bench yet again and stared at the snow in front of him. A gift with a price. Christine was gone, what did he have left to lose? "I have nothing to lose. Alright, Philippe. I accept your offer." Erik shivered lightly at the pleased grin on Philippe's face.
"The Circle will be most pleased. Shall we get started?"
∞†∞
More Authoress Blabbering: Shall we indeed Philippe :). Ooo, I feel like writing some more now...(blowing off my Philosophy paper sounds like a brillant idea...).
If you like it, I'll update sooner if I know people are reading it...(:wink, hint, nudge:)
Love it or hate it, please let me know! (Also looking for ideas if something strikes you.)