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Rossignol	By : Savaial Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 5240 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Rossignol
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 15-Ch 15
- 16-Ch 16
- 17-Ch 17
- 18-Ch 18
- 19-Ch 19
- 20-Ch 20
- 21-Ch 21
- 22-Ch 22
- 23-Ch 23
- 24-Ch 24
- 25-Ch 25
- 26-Ch 26
- 27-Ch 27
- 28-Ch 28
- 29-Ch 29
- 30-30- Epilogue
- 13
- 14
- 15
As soon as we were fully inside my house, I released him. He shook his head, anger slowly crossing his handsome face.

"What happened?" He glanced around, showing great concern that I did not answer him immediately. "Is Celeste alright?" he asked, his gaze falling to the hallway door. "Why did you come and get me, how long have I been here?" he stammered out, backing toward the door. I halted him with a raised hand.

"I brought you here to have a little chat without your songbird to hear the terrible things I am going to say," I answered. "No lady should have to hear the tale that I'm going to bleed into your ignorant ears." I heard my voice shake and conquered it with a mighty effort, noticing that the good Vicomte had also heard it. It terrified him to hear me less than perfect. I began to pace around him, almost insane with the desire to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze. He would be such an easy, justified kill!

"You have no idea Vicomte, what I have seen this past week, do you?" I laughed a short, ugly laugh, not giving him the chance to answer. "Of course you don't! You know nothing of your sister monsieur, absolutely nothing!" I whirled on him. "How does that make you feel, Raoul, to know that? Hm? Do try to answer."

"I- its unfortunate monsieur, to be sure, -"

"Unfortunate!" I roared, reaching out toward him with both hands. I backed him toward the door, barely able to see his face in my fury. "Unfortunate, monsieur, is dropping your house key down the gutter! Unfortunate is getting to the train two minutes too late! Unfortunate is losing your bet at the races!" I felt my hands touching him now, and the frantic beat of his pulse underneath me. I drew a single ragged breath and pulled away.

"Do you really think for one moment that your sister believes she is maligned by simple misfortune? Do you think she broke a mirror perhaps?" I stopped to laugh again, shaking my head in disgust. "Well, she's broken several mirrors monsieur, do you want to see?"

"She's - what has she done?" Raoul whispered weakly. He looked as scared as any man could be and still maintain dry trousers. He clutched at his neck, which was already beginning to bruise from my near-murderous wrath. I flung off my hat and cloak and seized his wrist.

He dragged his heels as I hauled him to the door, but I was stronger. I knew by the stiffening of his muscles he wallowed in the unseen horror I painted, thought the very worst for his sister. I did not care. I thrust him inside her darkened room. He fell into the glass without seeing it, his scrambling motions eliciting a gasp of surprised pain. I turned up the gas so he could see.

Celeste lay exactly as I'd left her. The filmy light caressed her every curve, her every bandage.

"What you are standing in, Raoul, is Celeste's mirror, her unfortunate mirror." I pushed his unresisting body to the bedside. "She saw herself for the first time tonight. Why do you think her own face would inspire her to destruction?"

"I- I don't know." De Chagny’s face crumpled as he looked at his sister.

"You don't know?"

"No monsieur, I really don't!" He bent over her, touching her wound. I saw tears starting in his eyes. "She looks just like our mother," he whispered. "Surely she would enjoy being so beautiful."

"I have a theory for you Vicomte, and it goes along with what I know already. Celeste smashed her mirror because she hates to look like the woman who married your father. Your father started raping her while she was small enough to hide in her closet. He was touching her when he drank."

"No!" Raoul jumped back from me, his eyes blazing. "My father would never do such a thing!"

"He did. It's why she never talked. He told her it was a secret, she had to be quiet."

"No! No, I can't be hearing this!" Raoul clapped his hands over his ears like a child. "My father was a good man; he drank because he got old and weak!"

"He drank because he wanted to Vicomte, and yes, he was weak. Weak to his own flesh. Celeste just happened to look like a fresh, innocent version of the woman who bore her."

Raoul sank down into the glass, his eyes blank in trying to absorb the horror. I let him sit there a few minutes just to let it all soak in.

"You and Philippe sold Celeste to a man she didn't even know," I continued at length. "You gave her to a man so she would be taken care of, so you wouldn't have to bear the burden of a retarded sister. Ten years have come and gone monsieur, ten years in which Celeste counted every day.” I felt myself working back up to fully-blown fury once more. “Ten years surrounded by lunatics and rapists. Ten years of wondering where her brothers were. Ten years of misery!" I reached down and picked the Vicomte off the floor, shaking him like a rag doll. "Have you never once thought to check on her? Have you never once paused in your idle, privileged pursuits to think about her? Your brother Philippe is dead so you will have to take an extra portion of guilt here. You never even wrote to tell her he was dead, I had to tell her."

"This isn't happening,” Raoul groaned, "This cannot be happening!" He wasn’t resisting me anymore, which was the only thing that kept me from killing him.

"I'm sure that is exactly what Celeste said at two o'clock in the morning when the asylum’s administrator came to make his nightly conjugal visit," I hissed. "She probably said it when Pierre Lescot put this ring on her finger," I said, brandishing the hateful jewelry before his eyes. "Take a good look at it monsieur; see what your eligible bachelor gave his beloved on their wedding day. She almost tore her finger off to remove it."

Raoul swooned at the ring's teeth. I thought he might faint, stupid boy that he was, and so I shoved him out into the hallway again. When I propped him against the wall I had to continue holding him for several minutes. When he finally came to some kind of awareness, I let him go and stepped away.

"I make a promise to you, Raoul de Chagny," I said, the red haze slowly seeping out of my vision. "I vow that no man shall govern Celeste anymore, not even you. Whatever she wants she shall have, even if what she wants is to never see you again. I suggest you begin acting like the brother you should be. I can make her forget anything I want, even that you ever existed. Don't make me do it." I grabbed him again, towing him toward the door while retrieving the ring from his numb fingers.

"You don't have to find a good lawyer for Celeste, because I'm going to kill her husband,” I vowed. “I am her guardian angel monsieur! You thought the angel of music had power over your loved ones?" I chuckled lowly as I tripped the door latch. "You haven't seen a fraction of what I'm capable of. Death Himself couldn't refuse my call!" I pushed him out and shut the door in his face.

**************************************************************************************

Celeste stumbled out of her room early in the morning, black hair charmingly awry and an actual dress on her curvy frame. She looked at me woozily; exhibiting the after effects of all the morphine I'd given her. I bowed to her politely, showing her with a flourish I already had coffee out on the table. "Good morning Celeste," I said lightly, "Would you join me for a cup of energy and a scone?"

She nodded, coming to me with a rather unsteady gait. When she lowered herself onto the sofa I heard her sigh, “Good morning Erik.” She poured for herself and then for me without asking. "Do you ever sleep?"

"Not often and not for very long Celeste," I chuckled, sitting a bit away from her. "You'll find the need for sleep diminishes as you get older."

"You don't move or speak like a man in his dotage," she answered, a wry twist to her lips. Her eyes landed on her bandages and flitted back up to me. "I did something I shouldn't have last night," she said softly. "But I think you know it already. I seem to recall talking to you by the lake." She took a sip of the dark brew in her cup, falling quiet.

"Yes, we spoke at length. You broke the mirror in your room." No use in sugar-coating the deed. She knew already; she just wanted to hear me say it.

"I'm sorry about that, I...” Celeste closed her eyes. "I'm not sorry I broke it, I'm sorry I broke your property."

"Do you see any other mirrors in my house?" I asked leadingly, making a sweeping gesture with my hand. "I had no need for such things, except for the room that you destroyed earlier on."

"I remember," she answered quietly. "The room with the twisted metal tree in it?"

"Yes," I replied slowly. "The torture chamber."

“The torture chamber,” she repeated softly, her eyes darting to me in wary but reserved apprehension. “Do people die in there?" She asked it calmly, not a single tone in her question betraying anything but curiosity. “Why would you have such a room?”

"A few people have died, yes. The room heats up you see, and the mirrors allow you to watch yourself die." I shifted on the couch, wondering why I was telling her anything about it. It wasn't good for her mind, surely. “But I don’t seek people out to kill, I want you to know that,” I added. “Only trespassers and interlopers meet with death in that room.” I paused to smile to myself. “At least, they used to. Now that all the glass is smashed out I will have to be more inventive.”

For several minutes of silence I watched Celeste process the information I’d given her. She stared off into space, her fingers playing with the necklace I’d given her. Her expression ranged from horror to disgust, then became curiously blank. When her eyes made their way back to mine I was shocked to see a spark of humor in them.

"You have quite a diabolical style, don't you Erik?" she said into her cup, apparently unmoved to feeling for the victims of my room of death. “I knew there was an edge to you. I haven’t forgotten meeting you for the first time.” She smiled again, draining her coffee and pouring another. "It must get boring to kill with only your voice."

"I never said I killed with my voice," I protested lightly. I had done it many times but I didn't see a need to let her think it.

"I'm naive Erik, but not that naive." Celeste picked up a scone and brushed the sugar off of it over its plate, as relaxed as if we discussed the weather. "You said you were the angel of death. I find it hard to think you haven't flexed those lovely vocal chords to that end. I certainly wouldn't ignore a natural weapon." She bit down into the scone, rolling her eyes in appreciation. "These are very good; did you make these?"

"Yes, I made them barely an hour ago." I found I was staring at her, but I could not help it. I teetered between pure disquiet and rampant admiration. Celeste had a cold streak running through her veins; I just hadn’t seen it up until now. She’d purged some demons by breaking her mirror, apparently. Now I was seeing a bit more of her than usual. "I'm glad you like them," I finished helplessly. I could not stop watching her delicate lips move.

"They're wonderful...” She let her head drop backward as she ate. "Do you like to cook and bake? I never learned how to do any of that. I think I could boil water."

"I can feed myself fairly well, but I don't count my domestic skills very highly." I was starting to feel warm under my mask. I'd never had a compliment to my cooking before; no one had ever really eaten here but Christine. "If you want to learn how to cook I'm sure I could find a few books,” I offered. “The kitchen is at your disposal."

I found it entirely unsettling to think she had dropped the topic of the torture chamber so easily. We’d gone from discussing baking men alive to baking scones.

"That sounds lovely." Celeste brought her finger up to her mouth, her tongue lashing out to catch stray sugar. I felt a pull in my groin. She could be provocative in a very unaffected way. "I might earn my keep around here after all," she continued. "It certainly wouldn't be for my tidiness."

"You don't need to earn your keep," I said, shaking off the daze I threatened to fall into. "I want you here."

Celeste closed her eyes a fraction too long to be blinking.

"Even now that you know I'm insane?" She smiled.

"You aren't crazy. If you were crazy you wouldn't be trying to work through your problems at all." I raised my cup to my mouth, surprised when it hit the barrier of my porcelain mask. I had forgotten about it. I hoped she hadn't seen, but she had. A tiny, confused smile flitted across her face, but she said nothing and turned her attention to another scone.

"I'd like to see your torture chamber in use," she said matter-of-factly, "on one Pierre Lescot. Too bad I’ve broken it.” She tilted her head to one side, responding to some inner debate. "I've thought about it, and I believe I could live with myself if I killed him. I'm not completely positive about that yet, but I think I know where I'll stand."

"I'm not going to tell you how to feel or what to think Celeste, but I will say that murder is a hard habit to break once you acquire it." I could mentor in many subjects, but I wasn’t about to take Celeste’s fragile mind and turn it toward learning to murder. I would let her develop in her own ways, no matter if she turned to killing or not, but I wouldn’t teach it to her.

"Is it a hard habit to break?" She turned to face me, showing interest. "After the first one, it comes easy?"

"Once you start seeing people as potential prey, it is hard not to rely on killing them as a way to remove them from your path,” I answered. I put my cup down; I couldn't drink the coffee now even if I were unmasked. I felt a curious excitement at Celeste's emotionless interest in the macabre. Most people would be so uncomfortable with both the topic and me by now that I could have caused them to faint with a few choice words, but not her. No, she was neither frightened nor overtly eager on the subject of killing. She approached the idea with a wary, but open mind. It was refreshing, ponderous, and significant to her personality.

Of course I wouldn't condemn her for killing her husband, I intended to do it myself very soon. And naturally I did not have far to look for the valid reasons she might have to become a murderer. She probably had a list of people to go through. If she asked me to take her to the ends of the earth to destroy her enemies, I would do it too. I just wouldn’t be the one who showed her how to do it. I would protect her and make sure she succeeded in her efforts, but that was it.

"Why is my brother still alive?" Celeste set the remains of her breakfast down to give me her full attention. "I don't know exactly what occurred here over Christine, but it must have been of opera quality. Christine can't decide whether to worship your voice or run screaming from it, and Raoul has a definite streak of mistrust for you. I can’t help but think you’ve done something to them, especially now that I know you went so far as to make a special room to kill people."

I sighed. I had promised to tell her, hadn't I? I just did not want to dredge all that ugliness to the surface again. It would be fair though, I knew more than a little about the things Celeste never meant to share.

"I'll condense this down, if you don't mind," I said, “Not to edit content, but for ease of delivery."

"That's fine; you don't have to tell me at all. I'll understand if you don't want to talk about it, really I will." She smiled. "I'm not so curious as to forget my manners."

“No, you deserve to know my relationship with your family,” I countered softly. “You deserve to know what kind of man I am and why your brother doesn’t trust me. You have entrusted me with your well-being and I want to have nothing but honesty between us.” I looked at her, watching her absorb my words with her usual, rapt attention. “I am a villain Celeste, but I am not a villain for you. I am only a guardian angel for you, for as long as you desire me as such. I want you to understand that fully before I tell you anything else.”

Celeste’s eyelids fluttered. “You want me to understand you’re a villain?”

I shrugged. “Yes, essentially.”

“Very well.” Celeste answered my shrug with one of her own. “I have no choice but to accept your opinion of yourself, but I reserve the right to judge your wickedness for myself. I believe I’m competent to make my own opinions.” She released my eyes and went back to her coffee. “So far you have been nothing but my hero Erik, surely that counts for something.”

I sighed inwardly. It was my fault she didn’t understand what I really was. I had two conflicting desires; one to show her nothing but relief and beauty, and the other to disclose all my skeletons. The two did not blend. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. All I knew was that it felt wrong for me to hide my deeds.

I wasn’t ashamed of the things I’d done. I was a monster, after all. I didn’t have to worry much about guilt or penance. My sleep was easy when it finally came, my waking hours just as smooth. Men were animals the same as any other; they did not have special dispensation in my predatory habits. If anything they were lower than other animals. Every other creature in the animal kingdom but man killed to survive or to eat; I was doing the world a favor to thin out their numbers.

But Celeste could not think the way I did. I could not expect her to grasp the well-nurtured hatred I had for men, or the pleasure I took in killing the ones that got in my way. Her hatred was based purely on personal injury. Once the men who had hurt her were dead and buried, so would her thoughts of murder be.

I took a deep breath. I would think of all this later, after I had unburdened myself and painted a realistic picture of what I was capable of. If Celeste wished to leave me after I told the tale, so be it. I would find a safe place for her to stay.

"I had been living here for several years when Christine came to Opera Garnier as a dancer,” I began. “She caught my attention with her lovely voice. After spying on her for a time I discovered she believed her dead father would one day send her the Angel of Music. I started giving her voice lessons through the looking glass of her dressing room, making her believe I was that spirit she waited for.”

I held back the tale a moment, waiting for Celeste’s emotions to show on her face. She met my eyes steadily, but her emotions stayed invisible. Her entire body was still and relaxed. I wasn’t used to such attention. Somewhat unsettled, I waded back into my narrative.

“In the persona of a ghost I orchestrated several schemes to get Christine noticed by the opera managers, Ms. Debennie and Poligny. I made the leading diva sing like a toad when I did not get Christine on stage, and as a sort of bowing out, dropped the two-ton chandelier on the audience during Faust's opening night. Needless to say things heated up just a little after that. Christine was seeing your brother on the sly even though she had more or less committed herself to me. I acted the jealous lover, which I wasn't, and kidnapped her. Raoul and my friend Emil came after her and I trapped them in the torture chamber.”

I stopped a moment to let Celeste’s thoughts catch up with my recitation. She still remained quiet on the couch, but her eyes had widened to unbelievable proportions.

“I gave Christine a choice. She could let Raoul free by marrying me, or blow the entire opera house sky high. She chose me. Afterward I couldn't go through with it and let them all go. I let Emil publish my obituary and I have been living quietly ever since. Sometimes I give the current managers a little prod, but I don't threaten them like I used to."

I fell silent, almost sick with what I'd had to spew out. It wasn't as if I'd have done it differently given a chance, except maybe dropping the chandelier, but I didn't like to think about it if given a choice. The past was the past.

"You're really quite infamous, aren't you?" Celeste gave me a small smile before breaking into a light chuckle. "Opera sums it all up, wouldn't you say?" She sobered as I stared at her, her face growing more composed. "I'm not making light of it, truly I'm not. I'm sure the whole thing was painful and gruesome. But you still haven't told me how Raoul escaped real harm at your hands. You obviously hold him in low regard."

Thinking to myself she didn't know the half of my feelings for the Vicomte, I shrugged. "Christine loves him. In the end it was that simple."

Celeste reached out for my hand and took it gently. I almost jerked away, so unnatural did human contact seem, but I halted in the nick of time. I met her eyes. I saw no pity, but sympathy. She warmed my flesh, granting me a moment in which at least one of my hands did not feel like ice. She wasn't perfectly comfortable with speech yet, but she didn't need it, not with her actions speaking for her so well.

"I love my brother, don't misunderstand me, I think the world of him." Celeste said softly, releasing me to stand. "And I like Christine, for I can see she has a heart of gold." She smiled faintly. "But they're both as idiotic as they seem to think I am. Had I been Raoul I wouldn't have gone toe to toe with you with over her. Had I been Christine....” She gave a short little laugh and started walking back for her bedroom. She was all the way to the door when she spoke again. "I'd have taken any angel over a fop, be he musical or deadly."

She walked in and shut the door behind her.

It was a long time before I smiled, but I did smile.
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Rossignol