Episode
Masquerading...no deceiving as an angel was my alias. Now the cold granite of the seraphim statue meant to comfort mourners provides shelter to a demon. I have followed you Christine, you sense something...yes- I can tell the nervous glances, the tightness in the set of your beautiful jawline...you know but you cannot prove.
Oh Christine...we could have been so much more, if only you were content to believe my beautiful illusions. But no. Like Eve and her apple, curiosity and the cat, you couldn't be satisfied with what you had been offered. Greedy, greedy Christine.
Could I have been satisfied with only ever watching you? Only being a voice from beyond? I dreamed too greatly for a monster. Greedy, greedy Erik.
My heart aches and burns with jealously. No one will ever mourn Erik with the devotion you show to your beloved Father. What was it like to have a parent who loved you? Who didn't despise every breath you took, cringed at every word you spoke, forbid you to let a whisper of air caress your face? Erik has never known, will never know...
Can you fault me for the sliver of hope Christine? The thought that maybe the love of stories, of fairy tales from a beloved parent, an angel of music for you would be enough? My hope, while minuscule, desperate, and tenuous- was all I had.
Had.
Had.
I watch your tears welling up from tired eyes- you really should get more rest Christine! I would wipe away those tears, comfort you, but Christine cannot abide Erik's cold touch. You will caress cold granite, cry cold tears, but you will not let Erik's hands soothe you. Surely you could find Erik preferable to the touch of your dead father.
At least I was advertised as the Living Corpse.
Episode
She came into the box, sitting in the upholstered chair with posture fit for tea with the Empress.
"Always punctual." My voice slithered softly into her left ear. "Your letter was most demanding Madame. I have little patience for demands."
"Indeed Erik. You are most proficient at making your demands known."
I am certain that Antoinette Giry was the only person in the entire opera who dared speak of or to the Opera Ghost with such derision in her tone. The lure of the Punjab around her wrinkled neck almost outweighed her personal usefulness at that moment. I decided to roll my eyes with all the spirit of a spoiled toddler before realizing that motion was wasted, what with me being hidden in the panel.
"Get on with it woman- what do you want?"
"Cancel this farce of an opera!" she hissed.
"Farce, Madame?" Just for personal entertainment I put each word in an opposite ear. "This farce has been the culmination of a life's work! I have slaved and rewritten and..."
"Yes, yes I'm sure you have been the epitome of the toiling, suffering artiste! But Erik they do not understand it, and worse they do not care to improve what they do not understand."
I ground my misshapen jaw.
"Then perhaps, Madame they lack proper inspiration. I shall attend to that problem most directly."
Madame turned in her chair. I knew she lacked the knowledge of exactly where I was, but watching the intensity of her glare to each wall was almost enough to quell my rage. In that moment I understood the discipline and appreciative fear the ballet rats had for their instructor. But what else had I to lose?
"You are dismissed Madame."
She stood then, proudly as always and walked with quick, intense steps to the door. I heard the click of the knob, the slight pull of the door, and then her voice, softer now.
"Making her sing in this...it will not make Christine love you Erik."
"No Antoinette, it won't." I whispered back. "But she will never forget."