I do not own any of the characters from the Phantom of the Opera.
Death, Thou Shalt Die
The Khanum lounged on her pillows, listening to the idle gossip between the harem slaves. She was bored, to put it plainly; l'ennui is what Erik had called boredom, and she felt it acutely. She reflected upon Erik, and how he had provided endless hours of amusement; she came to the conclusion that, while his death had been necessary, it was a shame. Now she had no plaything to toy with; it was also a shame that she had never bedded the monster. She was fascinated by Erik, and wondered many times how he would be as a lover.
The hour grew late, and soon, only two eunuchs were left with the Khanum. She considered turning in for the night, when one of the eunuchs dropped to his knees, and made a strangled noise. He soon dropped to the floor, dead. The other eunuch, scared out of his wits, clumsily armed himself with a spear; his cry echoed throughout the room when he walked near a corner in the shadows.
The Khanum sat still upon her pillows, wide-eyed. Nothing like this had ever happened before! What events were unfolding now? Her thoughts died as she saw some sort of shade move through the gloom of the shadows; she could have sworn she saw something white on the shade.
A voice then boomed out, "Bonsoir, madame. I have come here to insure justice."
The Khanum had considered fleeing; that was when she heard the doors shut and lock.
The voice continued, "You see, madame, you have caused me, and many others, so much misery that it is only fair that you reap what you have sown. I have come here tonight for retribution on every victim's behalf. Au revoir, madame; my time with you has not been pleasant, but it has given me experience that I shall employ now."
With that, the Khanum felt something heavy hit her head, and she knew no more.
The Shah was in a deep discussion with a few of his closest advisors when a messenger arrived. The messenger bowed before the Shah, and handed him a note. The Shah read it, and his face grew pale; he immediately left without a word for the torture chamber that Erik built.
Swinging from the iron tree was a corpse so badly mangled that one could not distinguish whether it had been once male or female. It seemed that, in addition to having spent a night in the torture chamber, the poor soul had been skinned as well. A note was pinned on the body:
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.