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...My name	By : larch Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 3899 -:- 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-...My name
- 2-Two
- 3-three
- 4-Four
- 5-five
- 6-six
- 7-seven
- 8-eight
- 9-nine
- 4
- 5
- 6
"Sidhe?"
"Yeah?"
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"You’re reading two diaries at once."
"And?"
Hase had no retort for that. "Why is that still here?"
"What?"
"The chamberpot."
"Er, thought it’d come in handy?"
"You are not related to me."
"No, I mean I thought if I washed it, it could be an umbrella stand or flower pot."
"…"
"It makes a great conversation piece without turning it into something else."
"Shut up."
"See?"
"Whose was it?"
"Shut up."
* * * * *
‘Christine is still confusing me. She’s doing it on purpose.
I got up from the organ and grabbed my sword, sensing someone outside. Just as I was about to open the door, someone knocked. I opened the door and there was Christine, standing in the doorway, holding a blanket and a loaf of bread.
"I brought these for you," she said, and handed the things to me. "I heard music down here. It wasn’t any sort of song I know, and you don’t have a music box. Was it you?"
"The organ didn’t wander down here by itself and refuse to leave," I said.
She giggled, the laughter rippled through her body, making her shake slightly, her red waves of hair bouncing about everywhere. No one had ever laughed at something I said—not affectionately. I think she might be mad.
"Would you play something for me?"
"Why?"
"If you don’t want to, you don’t have to, but it sounded so beautiful. I’ve heard you sing, Erik, you have an exquisite voice. Do you sing when you play?"
"Usually," I answered. "If I played, would you sing, Christine?"
"Me? My voice is too deep and rough. That’s why I’m a chorus girl, Erik. My voice isn’t pretty."
"It isn’t as high as others I’ve heard, but, I was … I just… All I wanted was to have a friend, who’d sing."
"If it makes you happy, I’d love to," she answered. Why she’d care about me I couldn’t comprehend. I was just some nuisance in the Opera House that caused trouble. Why come and bring me food? Why would she want music made by something like me?
It was unnerving, and at the same time, I enjoyed her company, her voice, the mere fact that she was there. Everything felt lighter and easier with her sitting next to me in the cold and the gloom. She even smile and nodded when I told her I preferred to take my mask off when I played.
Her presence may have made me happier, but she kept frightening me. She kept breaking the rules. There are things one does not do.
She kept teasing me. I’d be so enveloped in my music, in making notes flow from the organ as if I were creating the river Lethe, and she would reach out and stroke her finger down my cheek. It was only the slightest touch, but—it’s just not allowed. That’s not how you play this game and I’ve been playing it all my life.
She kept doing it, every so often she’d reach out and brush my cheek, making me freeze and the notes came crashing down like a collection of fine china. And then she took two fingers and brushed away my hair from my eyes, those dainty digits tracing along my temple. Doesn’t she know you don’t do this, about the rules of men and monsters?
I grabbed her wrist and held it away from me. "Stop playing with me!" I said. I didn’t raise my voice, I was scared and confused, not angry. "Don’t tease me, don’t torture me with anything I cannot do! You’ll touch a monster like me, but you’d never take the hand of a chimney sweep, would you?"
I let go over her wrist and turned away, sitting on my hands. I no longer felt like playing music.
"I know my place, Christine. Don’t torment me about it," I whispered.
She bowed her head and stared at her lap. You stick with your own kind. The poor with the poor, the rich with the rich, you don’t mix classes or creeds. I didn’t have anyone.
I wasn’t allowed to touch anyone except in violence. The only time I felt another’s skin was when I wrapped my hands around their throat and squeezed or twisted.
Glancing at her, I noticed she felt disappointed and upset, not because I wasn’t her little toy, but because I was unhappy. She didn’t understand.
I decided to show her. I’d make her leave me alone by breaking the rules as well.
I turned to her. She was still staring at her lap, not at all at me. Very slowly I raise my hand to her face. I had never done this, I was so afraid. I touched her soft, round cheek and traced her cheekbone with one finger.
She looked up. Before I could retract my hand she grabbed it, carefully wrapping her fingers around it.
To my utter surprise, she smiled at me. She said nothing and cradled my hand against her face.
I wrapped my free hand around her head, playing with her long dull-red locks. I stroked my fingers through hai hair over and over. She held onto my hand as she leaned forward and turned slightly. She rested against me, letting go of my hand to wrap her arms around me.
There was different music now. There was just us breathing, and our hearts beating. As a composer, I found it beautiful.’
* * * * *
‘Raoul won’t give up. Ever since we met, years ago, he’s been trying to win me.
He tells me I’m more radiant than ever before, my voice is sweeter and stronger, and I practically dance as I walk.
I guess it’s true. Weeks ago, I interrupted Erik in the middle of his music. When he plays he just brought out my emotions and made them surge like an angry tide. I turned his face to mine and kissed him. I though he’d cry, but no, he smiled. He actually smiled. He brushed the hair from my face and kissed me back. Ever since, maybe before, I’ve felt so happy.
I felt so much stronger, so invincible, everything looked so clear. I was laughing for no reason often, just because I was happy. I had found some sort of strength, some sort of magic and let it lead me. It felt like dancing when I walked, I let my spirit pour out through my words even when I was just talking. Every movement of mine felt like an intricate part of a dance, each thing had meaning, and yet I did it only because I wanted, only because it added to this happiness I never thought possible.
Erik has been acting similar. He stands up straight and tall, not a bit afraid. He’s so tall, it looks like the room shrinks, or as if it’s hard to hold in the power, the magic, the strength and spirit he just seems to exude with every step, every note, every word. He’s dropped the façade people forced on him a long time ago. He knows he’s human, he trusts me, fully and with all his sweet and gentle heart.
All this magic and power and spirit between us, that we bring out of each other and help make each other stronger. It seems like something to tend meticulously, doesn’t it? It’s just so easy. We’re in love, and it just makes everything simple in our lives have more meaning than before, it just makes us happier, it’s just being together, just the fact that we know we’ll see each other again makes us happy, makes our spirits seem to shine.’
* * * * *
"Fuck off!" Dante yelled. "Moron Americans, driving on the right side of the road. Morons driving, morons in charge of the airport, morons for ancestors, morons inheriting what’s mine. I came from the one who shot the damn guy, I’m going to get the credit.
"Come on, what now?" he muttered, hearing sirens right behind him. He pulled over. The police car followed in suit.
"You seem to be doing some funny turns back there," the officer said. "You almost went into the wrong lane, everything okay sir?"
"Yeah, sorry. I’m from England."
"You don’t look it, no offense,"
"No, it’s fine. My parents were French."
"What’s that, sir?" the officer asked, spying the sword.
"A sword."
"A sword?"
"It’s not like it’s concealed or anything,"
"Okay sir, you have a fun time. Good luck at the Renaissance fair, or whatever,"
"Yeah, sure," Dante said, and watched the officer leave. "Moron."
* * * * *
‘Christmas again.
Technically, it was Christmas Eve. I always feel lonely on Christmas. You’re supposed to be with your family and I have none. The Girys saved up enough money to go on a small trip. They want to o alone, and I can understand.
The Opera House will close soon. I have nowhere to go and no doubt Raoul would drag me to one of his parties. Too many people, and the dishes are too rich with no flavor. I don’t know anyone, and they only know that I’m poorer than them. You’re corset is extra tight, just like everyone else there.
I just sat there on the bed, looking around for an excuse. Then it hit me. I’d just do what I always did. I’d go see Erik. I’d go through the mirror.
I had intended to give him a gift anyway. It was just another blanket. I’ll never know how he survived all these winters with no blankets at all.
I stepped through the mirror and made my way through the darkness almost automatically.
My eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark yet when I got to the bottom of the stairs. I wondered if he’s be asleep, it was late at night, but the hours of the day were nothing for Erik. That was another world entirely, and he preferred his own.
The soft gravel at the edge of the river crunched under my feet, and I hoped I wouldn’t be attacked, mistaken for someone looking for the monster under the Opera or just lost.
I hurried across the bridge, making it swing and rock in the darkness. I knocked on the door, probably too loudly.
Erik opened the door and I threw my arms around him.
"Erik, Merry Christmas," I said, giving him the blanket.
He stood there, not sure what to say. He was acting just like when we first met.
"Erik?"
He refused to take the blanket and backed away a few steps.
"You shouldn’t be here, Christine. Not today, and not tomorrow. Christine… I… I’m an atheist."
He stood there in silence, waiting for me to do something. I had never thought about it, but it just seemed right for Erik to be an atheist. He was connected to no place, no people, no things, and no god. He was free down here in his dark world. He belonged to nothing and nothing belonged to him
He more expected me to get mad, to walk out on him, to grab a cross and try an exorcism than accept him. Everyone else in the world would do so to one who did not believe in God.
But this was Christmas. I know I’m being selfish and I know I’m going to hell for such thoughts, but I wanted something. I wanted both of us to be happy, I wanted something to happen. I wanted something for myself.
"Erik, somehow… I’m not sure why… I just don’t care," I told him and wrapped the blanket around him. He kissed me and I refused to let it stop too early, to let his fears get him again. He pulled me close to him, his arms around the small of my back and I pulled him down to the floor.
I lay on top of him and he buried his face in my hair, cuddling at my neck. My hands strayed to the buttons of his jacket.
We taught each other what it was to have skin against skin, warmth against warmth, to shed everything imposed on us, tangible or not, and to just hold each other, love each other. Neither of us knew what to do, neither of us were skilled or knew anything about what we were doing. We just let our passion lead us, we let love take priority and take charge, even as we fell asleep next to each other, with nothing but the blanket and the one we cherish to keep us warm.’
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...My name