DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera

Erik's POV

My body convulsed as fists hounded my skin, and the cold concrete was a welcome distraction. I would take anything to keep my mind off of the pain echoing through my body. Shivers ran up my spine, my hair stood on end, and warm blood drizzled down my chin, dropping in a pool on my bare chest.

The crowd cheered and yelled behind me. For me, or against me, who knows? I didn't care one way or the other. All coherent thoughts were far away now. The only thing I was sure about was the pounding in my head, and that death was possible.

As if death scared me. Ha! I was ready to die. I was ready to die years ago.

If only life had offered me peace and harmony, perhaps I would be normal. Perhaps then, I could seclude myself and hide my deformity from the world. But the truth was this; my face was the least deformed part of my being. I had a tangled and twisted heart. Years of living in an unforgiving world had hardened me.

Humanity was good at that. Taking an innocent child, and corroding him. Cramming such evil thoughts in his head that soon he doesn't even recognize himself. He thinks of himself as the scum of the earth and nothing will ever change that.

Yes, that is what the world did to me. That is why I don't care that I'm lying here being beaten to death. That is why when I felt a sweaty hand reach for my dagger, I handed it over without argument.

I waited for the sting of my dagger, ready to feel what I had dealt so many times before, ready to finally be out of my misery. But it never came. In fact, nothing came. No punches, no kicks.

A voice sounded through the room. The Shah announced that the fight was over, and instructed everyone to go home.

I opened my eyes to find an angry audience being ushered out the door, and about fifteen men being held back. Each one harbored the desire to finish their duty.

Two guards waltzed towards me, and pulled me to my feet. The weight of my body on my torn and battered legs was unbearable. When they let go, I tumbled to the ground, coughing up blood. The guards swore under their breath, and this time pulled me by my arms towards the infirmary, not bothering to stand me up.

Spasms etched their way up my spine as my body dragged the floor. The agony was greater than I had expected. They towed me a few feet and eventually deposited on an old creaky mattress.

Oh my, a bed! I hadn't been on a bed in many years.

A nurse walked through the door. She was of the lovely variety, with soft red hair and tormented golden eyes. She was familiar, very familiar.

"How are you feeling, Monsieur?" She asked.

All I managed was a low groan. Never in my life had I been deprived of my voice, but it was nowhere to be found now. I rolled my eyes to the back of my head.

"Don't worry, you'll feel better soon, and then you can get out of here."

My eyes opened in an instant. How could she possibly know of my escape plan?

"What?" I barely managed to choke out.

"In a few moments, you can go back to your sleeping quarters."

I heaved a heavy sigh, and she smiled lightly at me.

"I'm not surprised you're confused. You may have a concussion."

The nurse continued her speech diligently, explaining all the details of a concussion. She finally listed my other injuries.

"You have two fractured ribs, any number of torn ligaments, a few lacerations, and several contusions," she said, "you're fine, in a lot of pain, but fine."

Expected. I decided to do something good, no more killing, and I still don't deserve the luxury of a peaceful afterlife. I am doomed to experience all the pain this world has to offer.

The nurse looked to the clock in the corner, and sighed.

"I have to go. You're not my only patient, you know."

She looked at me intensely, with a new kind of vigor I hadn't yet seen.

"Take care of yourself, Erik. You never know who's counting on you."

I pulled my brow down, and stared at her. How much of my life did this woman actually know? She replaced her frown with a bright smile, and turned to leave.

As she left the room, a new figure appeared at the door; the man behind all of my agony.

The Shah glared at me, inching forward.

"I am going to say this one time only. I do not find your antics amusing. The next time you pull a stunt, I will execute you."

With that, the Shah exited the room.


Rosalyn's POV

I sat in the corner of my prison, nibbling on a tart that my father had brought me.

Night had passed and a new day was rising. A beautiful day that I would be, once again, deprived of. I had been awake for what was going on twenty-seven hours, exactly. Twenty-seven hours of no Erik. Twenty-seven hours. I counted the minutes.

He's probably dead, or maybe he was released. Perhaps the Shah is holding him where he is holding the rest of his prisoners. Surely he has more than two, but I suppose I don't count. He doesn't even know I am here.

My hands flew to my ears at the unexpected squeal of the door opening, but I quickly recovered, and jumped to my feet.

I heard a body being thrown into my neighbor cell. My curling lips consumed my entire face, and my heart pounded in my chest. I scurried to the minute window, to look in his cell. At this moment I wished that there was no wall between us.

When the click of the door being latched rang through the air, I couldn't contain myself any longer.

"Erik! Where have you been? Oh, I was so worried! But, you're here, and you're safe!"

I hushed, waiting for his response, but there was no response. My face fell, and I felt the anxiety slowly creeping up on me.

"Erik, what's wrong? Why won't you talk to me?"

Again, there was no reply.

"Oh this is ridiculous! I have waited up during the longest twenty-seven hours of my life for your return! And when you finally come back, you won't even speak with me!"

"You counted?" He asked.

His voice was hoarse, he didn't sound at all like himself. I realized that he was injured. He was injured, and I was yelling at him! This was not the reunion I had pictured.

"Of course, I thought you were in danger."

There, that's more like it. Use soft, sweet words. Not angry words.

"Erik, please tell me. What's wrong? What happened?" I was begging him.

He released an angry huff.

"What's wrong? What's wrong!" His tone was strong, and even though his voice cracked, I could hear the malice lingering on his tongue.

"My wretched face is wrong! My job is wrong! My entire life is wrong! What isn't wrong with this forsaken world?"

I flinched at his volume. Shivers scurried down my spine, goose bumps consumed my arms, and the air was suddenly freezing. I imagined monsters dancing in the shadows of my cell, waiting for the right moment to drag me away from the light forever.

"What kind of job do you have, Erik?"

"It's not important." He was much quieter this time. He sounded exhausted.

"But, Rosalyn, there's something I've been thinking of for a while." His whisper was intense.

"I- I'm not going to stay here much longer. I am going to escape, and when I leave, I want you to come with me."

"Erik, I don't know what to say."

This would ruin everything. We can't leave. I haven't figured it out yet. I need more time. Besides, where would we go? I couldn't leave Papa. Not when he's still heartbroken over losing Mama.

"Fine! You want to rot away in here, be my guest!"

He was angry again. I had to go with him. There was no point in my being here if he wasn't with me. No matter where he is, he will still have the information I need. The next time father and the Daroga visit, I will tell them of Erik's plan, and we will then readjust our plan.

"No, Erik. I want to go with you! Really. I'm just not sure how you plan on doing this."

"Don't worry. I designed the entire building; I know all the secrets to this place. I assure you, my plan will work."

There was a certainty about him that was difficult to dispute, and I believed him.