A/N:This fic is my spin on the computer game "Mystery Legends: the Phantom of the Opera" by Big Fish. It has influences from Beauty and the Beast as well as POTO 2004. While it's not necessary to have played the game to read this story, I highly recommend checking it out. This story takes many liberties, so if you have played the game, don't expect everything to be same. ;) I hope you enjoy.
Prologue
Paris, Winter 1870
Erik
A guttural cry, raw and agonizing, escaped Erik's chest as he fell to his knees. Fuck, the pain was unbearable. The chilling embrace of impending death hung heavy in the air, its shadowy presence drawing nearer with every heartbeat. In the depths of despair, an audacious idea ignited within him—a final, desperate gambit to escape the looming abyss of eternal damnation. It was a slim hope, a fragile thread of possibility, but he clung to it with the fervor of a man with nothing left to lose.
Erik swiftly retrieved his fallen mask, the familiar porcelain cool against his trembling fingers. With unwavering determination, he secured it over the upper half of his face, veiling the disfigured countenance that had long hidden in the shadows. Pushing himself up from the cold, unforgiving ground, he set forth on a frantic journey through the labyrinthine passageways of the Opera House.
These secret pathways, known to him like the pulse of his own heart, were his refuge and sanctuary. As he ran, his boots slapped rhythmically against the ancient stone floors, blending with the rapid cadence of his heart's desperate pounding. Every step he took was a perilous dance, avoiding the strayed and bewildered patrons who had become unwittingly ensnared in the chaos that now reigned supreme.
The cavernous depths of the Opera House seemed to reverberate with his purposeful strides, its grandeur now marred by the chaos that had erupted within. But he was undeterred, driven by a singular, desperate mission.
At last, he arrived in the dimly lit worship cellar, a place of devotion and desperation. The cold, hard ground received him once more as he collapsed to his knees, his final sanctuary. Here, where ancient incantations whispered in the stagnant air, he prepared to invoke the power that might save him from the abyss.
With the incantation hanging in the air, a shiver ran down Erik's spine, and he braced himself for the unknown. The flickering candles in the worship cellar seemed to dance to the rhythm of his racing heart. And then, as if conjured from the very shadows, a presence emerged.
She materialized before him, the Enchantress. Her form was ethereal, draped in a cloak that seemed to ripple like liquid moonlight. Luscious blonde waves framed her preternaturally beautiful face. Her presence radiated power, and a silence settled over the room as though nature itself held its breath.
The Enchantress's voice, when it finally came, was a haunting melody, echoing through the chamber like the lament of a lost soul. "Erik," she said, her voice carrying the weight of centuries,
"you dare summon me in your hour of desperation."
Erik swallowed hard, his voice tremulous but resolute. "I seek a chance to change the past, to win back the love I lost. I know the past cannot be rewritten, but I'm begging you, Enchantress. Please…bring her back. Without Christine, my life is nothing. I am nothing. Bring her back to me." Erik pleaded, his voice breaking on the final words.
She lifted her head slightly, revealing eyes the color of shining amethyst. The Enchantress's eyes bore into Erik with an icy, unyielding gaze. Her voice, as cold as the void, sliced through the air like a dagger. "You have suffered much, Erik, and love has indeed been cruel to you. But the tapestry of time is immutable, and even I cannot undo what has been done."
Erik's heart sank, his shoulders slumping with the weight of despair. He raised his eyes to the Enchantress's beautiful ones, giving her one last desperate plea. "You don't understand, Enchantress. I cannot bear to go on without her," he said, his words full of bitterness and abject sorrow.
The Enchantress stared down at Erik. She raised one perfect eyebrow, appearing unmoved by his display of emotion. "I wish to grant you one final chance at redemption," she said, her voice as cold as ice, devoid of sympathy.
Erik's hope flickered like a candle in the wind. His heart pounded, the weight of his plea hanging in the air. He watched as the Enchantress's hand extended, and in her palm, a single black rose materialized. Its petals were as dark as a moonless sky, and they shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly beauty. With a swift motion, she pressed the rose into Erik's hand.
"As penance for the suffering you've caused tonight, your redemption shall be marked by this cursed black rose," the Enchantress continued, her voice unforgiving. "You shall remain within the confines of this Opera House, cut off from the world outside to reflect upon your actions. The rose petals will fall, one for each century that passes. Should the final petal fall, your fate shall be sealed, and you will remain forever imprisoned by the curse."
Erik's gaze shifted from the rose in his hand to the Enchantress, shock etched into his features. The fate she described sounded far worse than death. "Surely you are not serious? I cannot be condemned to a lifetime of solitude in these decrepit ruins with no hope of escape!" Erik shouted, panic gripping him like a vice.
The Enchantress regarded Erik with a cool glare. "You haven't let me finish. And mind your tone when you speak to me. I do not appreciate being shouted at," she said icily.
Erik let out a frustrated sigh, realizing his outburst. "My apologies. Please continue," he said, his voice more composed.
"To break the curse, you must win the heart of your true love before the last petal falls," the Enchantress continued, her words carrying the weight of fate itself.
"How am I supposed to accomplish that when I'm trapped within these walls?" Erik replied, his tone tinged with desperation.
The Enchantress only stared down at him. "Because I can be merciful when I want to be, there is another element to your curse that will help you achieve that."
With a flick of her elegant fingers, she conjured a swirling pool of magic that cast a radiant light upon the dim chamber. Erik shielded his eyes from the sudden burst of brilliance, but as the glare subsided, his gaze fixed upon a mesmerizing sight within the enchanting pool of magic—an image of the massive mirror in Christine's dressing room, the very mirror through which he had once taught her to sing.
"This mirror will show the world as it is, outside the imprisonment of the curse," the Enchantress declared, her voice carrying the weight of inevitability. "It is through this mirror that you will find your true love. When she appears, the rose will begin to glow, and you will be able to transport her here. The rest is up to you."
Erik's breath caught in his throat as he beheld the mirror's reflection shimmering in the Enchantress's palm. It was a lifeline to the world beyond, a portal to the realm he could only watch but never touch. His heart pounded with anticipation and dread, for he understood that this mirror would play a crucial role in his quest for redemption.
The black rose in his hand seemed to grow heavier, its dark petals a stark contrast to the ethereal magic that surrounded him. The Enchantress's cruel mercy had set his fate into motion, intertwining his destiny with that of a woman he had yet to meet. And as he stared at the mirror's image, a sense of foreboding settled over him, for he knew that the price of his redemption would test the very limits of his heart.
"Good luck, Erik." The Enchantress began to fade back into the shadows, her form dissipating like mist. As the Enchantress vanished, the candles in the worship cellar seemed to brighten, casting away some of the darkness that had plagued Erik's soul for so long, yet leaving behind the looming shadow of the curse that would shape his destiny.
Erik rose from the altar, the black rose still clutched tightly in his hand, and ventured into the grand foyer of the Opera House. It remained as he had left it, a haunting reminder of the flames that had consumed it mere hours before. The windows were shattered, the curtains torn, and walls charred with ash. But the air was eerily still. Outside, the world was enveloped in a blanket of snow and ice. There were no managers shouting, no panicked patrons screaming for their lives. Erik's bitter thoughts lingered on the fact that Christine and Raoul had long since departed, embarking on a life filled with happiness and blessings.
Once more, he descended to his knees, the unforgiving truth of his predicament enveloping him like a suffocating shroud. A desolate isolation settled upon him, casting its shadow over his very soul. He was utterly alone. As he always had been. As he always would be.
A solitary tear, unseen behind the porcelain mask that veiled his anguish, traced a silent path down his cheek as his heart at last turned to stone.
