Dear Diary, Dear Erik
Phantom Phanfiction
I am so sorry for the lack of update! The evil teachers were being mean and I was unable to finish this chapter. I had actually written about 3/4ths of it before the evil teachers pounded me with work. And then, once I got out of school, my parents gave me tons of chores and I've been on vacation. So, once again, I apologize. I hope to make the story go much faster now. Once again, I apologize and I hope I haven't lost anyone because of the long wait. Fay.
Chapter 1 – The Diary
Erik POV
I had just been leaving her grave, changing the rose as I had everyday since she had been put in the ground. I remembered the way she had looked when I had given her her first rose. I had tied the blood-red rose with a black ribbon as always. I'd left the ring she'd given back to me so long ago as well. My eyes teared up. It was hard to think of his Christine like that, lying cold underground… She was so warm, so beautiful. She didn't deserve to be in that cold, dark grave. Left to rot with rest of humanity as all must do. But not his Christine. His Christine was angel and deserved to be returned to the light and warmth from which she'd descended to Earth from. I shook my head, clearing myself of these thoughts. She was not his Christine… She had never been his…
Erik wept bitter tears. Now his angel was truly gone… He had been able to keep going on in his Hellish existence in his ruined, burnt Opera House because he had known that his angel was safe, alive, and happy somewhere. His thoughts were always on his angel. He'd been unable to move on after that night, as much as he'd tried. He'd been unable to forget his angel. He had so desperately wanted to hold her in his arms forever, but he had to content himself to watching her from afar for most of her married life, knowing she was happy now and he did not want to ruin that happiness for her. As much as he had tried to get himself to hate her for her betrayal, he could not. He could not wish any ill upon his angel. She had been so beautiful, he'd seen her. Even when they'd laid her down in that dark hole he now stood over, she'd been beautiful, a timeless beauty on her features. He felt he could reach out and touch her and she would stir. She had not looked like most did upon death, sickly pale, all beauty drained from them. No, she'd looked very much alive. Like she was sleeping. He'd played for her that night, when every one else was finally gone. For the second time, he'd played the Resurrection of Lazarus at that graveyard, only this time his angel was below the ground and he the one in mourning. Now, his angel was gone, and with her his only light in his rather dark, bleak world. His music was no longer the same with his inspiration missing. She had been his only comfort and now…
Erik was startled out of his thoughts as he heard footsteps coming his way. Visitors. He quickly hid in the shadows behind a tomb, watching. He was quite irritated that someone would disturb his despairing solitude with the one he loved lying six feet under the ground. Erik felt bitterness stir within him and he seriously considered just Punjabing the offenders and leaving it at that. But, no, Christine would not approve. He could not kill anyone in front of Christine, even if it was just her grave. No, that was what had helped drive her away from him in the first place.
He kills without a thought,
He murders all that's good…
The words mocked him, reminding him of the fear his killings, his murders, had instilled within Christine. So, instead, he sighed and resigned himself to merely watching them as they came and left before continuing on his way.
His eyes widened. He recognized the figures approaching.
The de Changys…
Erik felt a deep bitterness whell up within him as he watched them slowly approach Christine's grave. A young man pushed Raoul, who was in a wheelchair, right up next to her grave. He sneered from his hiding place behind a tomb. He was much older than Raoul, yet he still got around fairly easily and the Vicomte had grown old and weak. True, a few more lines were on his face than before, and his hair had turned grey, yet he was almost as strong and limber as he was those many years ago. The only other part that had changed was hidden behind his cool white, porcelain mask. It had only grown more horrid over the years. He watched as Raoul took something from his lap and set it before Christine's grave. Erik swallowed hard. His music box… Why? Why would the Vicomte place something of his rival's next to his wife's grave? He watched as Raoul's eyes widened as his gaze came to rest on the red rose and the ring. He seemed to tear up and shake a little and smile. Erik stared. Was the man mad? He then broke out into a fit of coughing before he took what appeared to be a book out of his jacket and set it next to the music box. Erik couldn't see the title from where he stood, but he pondered on the Vicomte's actions. Why was he doing this? He watched as the Vicomte started coughing again and the young woman spoke to him, concerned. He glared at the family, jealous of Raoul's family. Raoul had Christine, a daughter, and a son. Erik longed for a family of his own with Christine, but he knew it could never be. Christine had chosen the Vicomte and Erik was left to watch as they were married, had children, and raised a family. Daniel was the boy's name and Caroline was the girl's. He was glad that Daniel looked more like his mother and Christine's late father than his own father, the Vicomte. But it pained him to look at Christine's daughter, who was the mirror image of her mother when she was younger. When she still lived in his Opera House. He had watched them grow up from the shadows, watching them and felt a certain compassion for them. They were part of Christine. He only wished they were a part of him too, but ,no, they were not. No, they were not the proof of Christine and his love, but of Christine and the boy's love. Yet, he felt an intense bitterness and jealousy as he watched them leave. Quickly, he made his way over to her grave through the shadows and picked up the book and read the inscription. His breath caught in his throat.
Pour Erik.
Looking up, he saw Raoul's gaze drift back this way and quickly hid in the shadows once more. He smirked as the old man paled and glanced around, looking for him before turning ahead. So, the boy still remembered… Good.
He then watched as the Vicomte and his family left before he dared emerge from the shadows. He then looked down into the object in his hand, turning it over to read the inscription again. His breath caught in his throat. There was no doubt for whom the book was for. He glanced up from the small book to look down the path Raoul and the others had left by. How had he known he'd be here, though? Quickly, he shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of those thoughts. What did it matter anyway how? The question was, why?
Curiously, carefully, he opened the book, reading the first page which read:
'The Diary of Christine Daae de Chagny.'
He almost dropped the book in his surprise. His breath caught in his throat, his heart clenched painfully, and tears burned in his eyes. Her… diary? He looked up from it again to look at the path her husband and children had taken. Why? Why give this to him? Why now when she was dead? He stared back down at the small book in his hands. The only answers he would find lay in this book, yet did he dare? Did he dare explore this small book containing her mind and heart within its pages? Did he dare not?
Erik took a deep breath and turned the next page and began to read the thoughts and feelings of the one he loved…
Hello. Good or no? Suggestions are welcome as is constructive criticism. Hope you liked it. No rough language, as usual, or the favor will be returned to you as usual, unless you're like some of those people who put 'Damn that was good!' or something like that. I had that question once. Just no cussing me or anybody else out. Rating may change to M later. No I don't own Phantom of the Opera. And I don't own Erik. I'm just borrowing him. With no intent of returning him. Please R&R. Fay.