Dust settled around him as Erik's senses came to, but not his memory. He felt that he was lying on something very uncomfortable, and his mask was askew. His first reaction was to fix it, but his hands came away empty, for the mask had been broken to pieces, and was unable to be fixed, as he soon remembered. Alas, in his fury, he had thrown it off, an action he now regretted in full. An angry groan filled him. He'd have to find his spare. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. Slowly, Erik's memories from flooded back.
The scorpion...the grasshopper...Christine's choice...an explosion. It all added up, expect for one thing. Why am I still alive?
The explosion had been meant to kill him, and everyone else. Was the Opera Populaire not in ruins? Was Christine not dead, along with the Viscount and the Persian? Did the managers still arrange for operas over his head?
Pulling himself to a standing position, Erik drank in the scene around him. Perhaps the whole Opera house had not been destroyed, but this part of his lair certainly had been. Pages of music, chucks of the roof and walls, glass, candles, and various other things littered the floor around him.
Erik suppressed a cry of horror. His home was gone. But he was still here. It was the subject of some of his occasional nightmares, when other horrendous parts of his past did not bleed into his sleep.
All thoughts of this, however, were drained from his mind the moment he thought of Christine. Oh God, what if she was still alive, but deathly injured, or dead? Either way, Erik could never forgive himself. He deserved death for harming her. It had been his hope to not have to deal with this...but it was too late now. He had to find her.
His normally blazing amber eyes, which were now mellowed in guilt, scanned the wreckage for any sign of her. He didn't need to see to the Viscount and The Persian. Wherever they were, they were over a gun powder barrel in that area, and surely dead, ripped apart in a bloody end. His only worry was Christine. If he had survived, then there was a chance that she had as well.
Cursing his inept ability (never before had he made such a grave miscalculation), Erik finally spotted a square of milky flesh belonging to Christine Daae. Hope dared to spill into his heart, despite his knowledge that she could well be dead.
Wading through the shattered abode, Erik finally reached her. She appeared unharmed, merely lying in an empty space of floor with rubble around her (there hadn't been a barrel of gunpowder beneath the scorpion and the grasshopper.), but she was not conscious. Anxiety surged through Erik. Perhaps she was dead? But no! Christine was alive! Her pulse beat strong, musical even to Erik's frayed nerves. Even if unplanned, they had both lived. And surely there were areas where his home was salvageable.
Against his better judgement, Erik left his love as she was, lying face down on the floor, dust covering her in a thin layer, to get a view of the outside of the Opera House. Fortunately, his nearby passages had not collapsed in the blast.
From the outside, the Opera Populaire looked as it always had, standing strong and proud. Erik cursed himself, knowing that his plan was thoroughly undone if everyone had lived. How could explain the death of himself and Christine (for it was better to remain dead than to open old shadows) along with the deaths of the Persian, and the Raoul Viscount de Changy? (A/N I have no clue if that is the proper title or not, it's just what I think it is.)
Hurrying back to his angel, Erik scouted out the rest of his lair, which appeared undamaged. And he knew that there would be somewhere to hide in there when people – insignificant, nosing people! – came to find bodies when no one re-appeared. And Erik knew full well that it would not be long before someone came to miss the Viscount and connected the dots.
As carefully as he could, Erik dragged Christine from her rather uncomfortable looking position on the floor to a nearby secret passage. He could only hope that he still had access to whatever Christine might need to recover from where they were.
Days had passed. Erik was at a loss.
Perhaps she shall never wake. Perhaps this is what I deserve. He thought, raising his head slightly to glance at Christine's still form, her palled hands crossed over her abdomen as Erik had put them before. He knew not how long- one could not keep track of the days here. He slept when tired, ate when hungry, and held no recognition of the passage of time other then agonizing moments that sluggishly crawled by while Christine did not wake.
However, Erik did know of one thing- he knew that she would hate him. A hollow chuckle echoed through the room. He should have planned for this. He should have known.
"Nothing goes right for Erik, not even death." He murmured as a tear squeezed from his left eye. He brushed it away quickly, as if it shamed him to show emotion.
"Erik must not," he growled under his breath, "do that." He reprimanded himself harshly. Emotion is weakness. There is no room for weakness.
It had been so long. Erik was not concerned over himself seeing the light of day, but he was beginning to think that Christine never would. He had abandoned the idea of not showing any emotion- he knew Christine would never wake. He was sure of it now.
Bending his head over her heart, he allowed warm, salty tears to freely fall from his eyes onto her clothing, soaking it.
"Erik loved you." He whispered. "It was all for you. I never wanted anyone else. And yet cannot you make my misery end? Cannot you let go of life so I can?" He clutched at her cold fingers, sobbing harder. "You knew. You knew Erik would not leave this world without you. That's why you cling to this fleeting existence. To make me pay for my cruelty." Standing, Erik brushed a callused hand over his dark wig, and stepped back from where his angel laid, her once lively face drained of colour and emotion; an image that would haunt him to the end of his days.
"You demon, you have done this on purpose!" He raged, throwing things from tables and overturning chairs. "You knew what you meant to me. You knew what this would do to me. To your poor, unhappy Erik." He again seated himself at her side, calmed considerably.
"And yet it is naught but what I deserve." He barely spoke these words, not moving his lips as he did, but pressing them to his love's forehead.
And at the very same moment, as he closed his eyes, ready to never open them again, his love opened hers.
Erik sensed the change instantly and brought his head up, ashamed of having been as bold as to rest his head near her.
"Christine, please, forgive me, I should not have been so close to you..." Erik stood quickly, and hurried his speech, not giving Christine the chance to speak.
"I...I..." Erik paused in his words, noticing Christine was pointing to herself in a frantic manner.
"Christine?" Erik stepped closer cautiously, but Christine did not change her action. She remained sitting up, pointing to her throat with right index and middle fingers, one on each side. Erik suddenly grasped what she was trying to say.
And for the first time in his life, Erik was speechless.
Behold the first chapter of my first chaptered story! It's not my best work, so I'm sorry if doesn't seem worth reading beyond this. And I'm sorry there wasn't much dialogue in this chapter, but it was a set up for the plot.
Internet cookies if you can figure out what Christine is trying to say!
The next chapter should be up within the next week. Check back soon!
Happy Whatever!