Disclaimer: I have actually stolen Erik and I have him locked up in my
drawer at the moment, so if he hasn't figured out a way to open it yet, he
is mine to keep forever! But let that be our secret, okay?
~ Chapter four ~
Coming back to his own quarters he sat down next to his black coffin, his bed, took off his mask, and closed his eyes. What a wonderful night it had been! God had been kind to him today. If he had been forced to kill the entire population in Paris just to be allowed to feel half of what he had felt today, he would do it in an instant! Without any hesitation or remorse whatsoever.
But he hadn't killed anyone today. He had been set out to do so. But he hadn't.
The only man who had died today, had drowned in the lake before he had the time to drown him himself. It must have been Raoul de Chagny's brother, because he had looked just like an older version of the young man. What was his name? Philippe? He had seen him before in the Foyer at the Opera.
Anyway, Philippe's death wasn't his fault. It wasn't the even the siren's fault! The siren was going to take care of him, but alas, he was too late! The clumsy Vicomte had already managed to kill himself somehow. The siren had found him floating on the lake Averne upside down like a dead fish, and that had left him in a somewhat puzzled state of mind. Apparently the man had hit his head somehow, perhaps by attempting to dive into the lake at one of its shallow spots, and hit his head so badly that he fell unconscious and drowned within a few seconds.
How fickle fate is. The man must have had two death contracts. One with the siren and one with fate, but fate had been faster this time.
And Erik had had been good, he had saved the life of the Daroga and Raoul to please his wife, and God and heaven had even rewarded him with the best night in his life, already. God not only works in mysterious ways; he also works very quickly! He mused on if it was because this night was bound to be his last? He took the ebony boxes out of his inner pocket, and put them in a drawer. He wouldn't need those again, for sure. For now it was all over. Tomorrow Christine should leave him for the last time in his life. She should marry the booby Raoul, and she would be happy with him. He would provide for her, bring her joy and take her out on Sundays. Everything a husband should do to his wife.
But Erik would make Christine promise to come back, when he was dead. He planned on putting a small advertisement in the Epoque about it. That way she would know when his life was over. I couldn't be long left now. He hung with his head, and somehow he experienced utterly joy and more pity over himself that he had ever felt, both at the same time.
What he wouldn't give to have the fair complexion of an ordinary man! But he had to reconcile with his destiny.
He was no ordinary man.
He was Erik.
He knew that, everybody that had ever seen him knew that.
He took of his jacket, and silently wondered if God was merciful even towards mendacious murderers such as himself. He doubted it. He laid down in his coffin and closed the lid. The darkness was peaceful and surrounded him completely. He was so used to looking like a dead person and living like one. Acting like the living corpse, the ghost and ghoul he was born as.
He hoped that when death would come, it would take him quick. He had felt death's shadow following him, patiently and silently observing him for some time now.
How old was he? He didn't know for sure. Fifty something perhaps. Christine was only in her twenties, with her whole life ahead of her. She belonged up in the sunlight, on the stage and in the heart of the audience. She had looked so beautiful when he had taken her to visit the Bois; she was always so beautiful. When she is gone he will live out of the memory of her. Her beautiful Swedish blue eyes, golden hair, soft skin and amazing voice. She wasn't like anyone else at the opera, she never had been, and probably never should be. She was special.
He had never seen her use any make-up, even though many of the singers nowadays wore a lot. On some you could hardly see their face behind the layers of powder and rouge that covered their skin, but Christine had never used any. She refused to do so. "I will not look like someone I'm not!" he had heard her say once. And he was glad that she hadn't changed her mind, even though several people had tried to persuade her into putting on some powder. Her Scandinavian beauty was more than enough and any powder or make- up would only cover it instead of showing it more.
Sometimes it felt as if her beauty stung his eyes. It was so radiant and it shined so brightly, especially when she smiled, that he sometimes just closed his eyes, trying to save the vision of her as a photo on the inside of his eyelids or something.
But it was never enough, he wanted to see more. He needed to see more. He had started to become depending on her, weather he liked it or not. He started to look for her around the opera, saw how she was kind to everyone, from the corps de ballet to the old cobblers. Her smile and joyful, crystal clear laughter that made even him feel a light in his soul when he heard it, was one of the most heart-warming sounds imaginable. She was the queen of the opera, weather others saw it or not, he saw it clearly.
He on the other hand was the king of the opera, and that was something he let people know little by little. He gave the managers notes from the Opera Ghost he was, and the legend soon got the respect and fear that was in place for a phantom from all the levels of workers at the Opera. He was satisfied.
However his need for Christine became more and more of an obsession, she drew him to her more and more each day, and he thought over the fact that she may not be as innocent and kind as she seamed to be. So he followed her for a while. And to his surprise he discovered that she was for real. She was like an angel. He had never thought that anyone could be so honest and purely good as Chistine.
It was truly unfair that she wasn't at a higher position at the opera, so he began playing with the thought of maybe tutoring her. She had a good voice and he could teach her how to use it, he could teach her everything she needed to know.
~ Chapter four ~
Coming back to his own quarters he sat down next to his black coffin, his bed, took off his mask, and closed his eyes. What a wonderful night it had been! God had been kind to him today. If he had been forced to kill the entire population in Paris just to be allowed to feel half of what he had felt today, he would do it in an instant! Without any hesitation or remorse whatsoever.
But he hadn't killed anyone today. He had been set out to do so. But he hadn't.
The only man who had died today, had drowned in the lake before he had the time to drown him himself. It must have been Raoul de Chagny's brother, because he had looked just like an older version of the young man. What was his name? Philippe? He had seen him before in the Foyer at the Opera.
Anyway, Philippe's death wasn't his fault. It wasn't the even the siren's fault! The siren was going to take care of him, but alas, he was too late! The clumsy Vicomte had already managed to kill himself somehow. The siren had found him floating on the lake Averne upside down like a dead fish, and that had left him in a somewhat puzzled state of mind. Apparently the man had hit his head somehow, perhaps by attempting to dive into the lake at one of its shallow spots, and hit his head so badly that he fell unconscious and drowned within a few seconds.
How fickle fate is. The man must have had two death contracts. One with the siren and one with fate, but fate had been faster this time.
And Erik had had been good, he had saved the life of the Daroga and Raoul to please his wife, and God and heaven had even rewarded him with the best night in his life, already. God not only works in mysterious ways; he also works very quickly! He mused on if it was because this night was bound to be his last? He took the ebony boxes out of his inner pocket, and put them in a drawer. He wouldn't need those again, for sure. For now it was all over. Tomorrow Christine should leave him for the last time in his life. She should marry the booby Raoul, and she would be happy with him. He would provide for her, bring her joy and take her out on Sundays. Everything a husband should do to his wife.
But Erik would make Christine promise to come back, when he was dead. He planned on putting a small advertisement in the Epoque about it. That way she would know when his life was over. I couldn't be long left now. He hung with his head, and somehow he experienced utterly joy and more pity over himself that he had ever felt, both at the same time.
What he wouldn't give to have the fair complexion of an ordinary man! But he had to reconcile with his destiny.
He was no ordinary man.
He was Erik.
He knew that, everybody that had ever seen him knew that.
He took of his jacket, and silently wondered if God was merciful even towards mendacious murderers such as himself. He doubted it. He laid down in his coffin and closed the lid. The darkness was peaceful and surrounded him completely. He was so used to looking like a dead person and living like one. Acting like the living corpse, the ghost and ghoul he was born as.
He hoped that when death would come, it would take him quick. He had felt death's shadow following him, patiently and silently observing him for some time now.
How old was he? He didn't know for sure. Fifty something perhaps. Christine was only in her twenties, with her whole life ahead of her. She belonged up in the sunlight, on the stage and in the heart of the audience. She had looked so beautiful when he had taken her to visit the Bois; she was always so beautiful. When she is gone he will live out of the memory of her. Her beautiful Swedish blue eyes, golden hair, soft skin and amazing voice. She wasn't like anyone else at the opera, she never had been, and probably never should be. She was special.
He had never seen her use any make-up, even though many of the singers nowadays wore a lot. On some you could hardly see their face behind the layers of powder and rouge that covered their skin, but Christine had never used any. She refused to do so. "I will not look like someone I'm not!" he had heard her say once. And he was glad that she hadn't changed her mind, even though several people had tried to persuade her into putting on some powder. Her Scandinavian beauty was more than enough and any powder or make- up would only cover it instead of showing it more.
Sometimes it felt as if her beauty stung his eyes. It was so radiant and it shined so brightly, especially when she smiled, that he sometimes just closed his eyes, trying to save the vision of her as a photo on the inside of his eyelids or something.
But it was never enough, he wanted to see more. He needed to see more. He had started to become depending on her, weather he liked it or not. He started to look for her around the opera, saw how she was kind to everyone, from the corps de ballet to the old cobblers. Her smile and joyful, crystal clear laughter that made even him feel a light in his soul when he heard it, was one of the most heart-warming sounds imaginable. She was the queen of the opera, weather others saw it or not, he saw it clearly.
He on the other hand was the king of the opera, and that was something he let people know little by little. He gave the managers notes from the Opera Ghost he was, and the legend soon got the respect and fear that was in place for a phantom from all the levels of workers at the Opera. He was satisfied.
However his need for Christine became more and more of an obsession, she drew him to her more and more each day, and he thought over the fact that she may not be as innocent and kind as she seamed to be. So he followed her for a while. And to his surprise he discovered that she was for real. She was like an angel. He had never thought that anyone could be so honest and purely good as Chistine.
It was truly unfair that she wasn't at a higher position at the opera, so he began playing with the thought of maybe tutoring her. She had a good voice and he could teach her how to use it, he could teach her everything she needed to know.