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Mirror	By : BellaLaura Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 6356 -:- 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
- 8
- 9
- 10
The darkness of the room had not changed, but Erik instinctively knew that a fair amount of time had passed as he reluctantly opened his eyes. Not that I feel rested… he thought as flashes of his nightmare plagued sleep returned to his consciousness. His usual horrid visions had combined with the prior evening’s events, resulting in an unsettled slumber.

Erik felt the unfamiliar soreness as he rose from the bed to light a candle and dress. After donning a fresh white shirt, trousers, and shoes he made his way into the main chamber, determined to distract himself from thoughts of Sarah. Gathering his sketching pencils and paper, Erik sat at his desk hoping to complete some new set designs for the Opera Populaire’s next production. It was amusing to him how little encouragement those fools who called themselves managers needed in order to be absolutely convinced to use the designs sent to them by O.G.

* * * * * * *
Sarah opened her eyes.

Sunlight pierced her blinds, allowing the early morning light to enter her bedroom. She squinted at its intensity, turning her neck to one side in a lazy stretch. She turned back the light sheet that covered her form.

What?

She blinked, her eyes falling down her naked form. Sarah never slept naked. She slowly sat up, her eyes surveying the bedroom. A white chemise lay untouched, in perfect folds on her bedside chair as she had left it the previous morning. She stood up, chilled by the cool air that flooded the room.

Shit.

The window sat propped open; last night’s rain had dried on the sill, staining it in dark drenches. She grabbed her chemise and quickly stepped into it before closing the window with a loud thud. Slowly, she turned back to face the bedroom.

That rain, she thought, surely does induce fucked up dreams.

“As does watching Heathers before bedtime,” she smiled as her hands wrapped around her frame. She winced in pain as her hand passed over her upper arm.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes caught the large bruise that had formed on her arm. Angry yellow stared back at her stunned face, striping over her bicep as though marking a grip over her arm.

I am Erik.

The voice, her dream, it all flooded her mind at the sight. Adrenaline coursed through her, fueling her rampant thoughts as scenes of the night’s events promenaded through her thoughts.

She steadied herself, her hand pressed to the wall, slowly sliding over the cool surface. She looked back at her bed. Empty.

“Will you stay?”
“Of course.”

Her mind searched for his face- but all she recalled was his touch, his scent, his breath in her ear. And now he had slipped away, so sweet and elusive as he had come. Sarah slowly left her bedroom, the bed still in a disarray, and carefully made her way down the stairs.

* * * * * * *
The drawing started simply enough, with a large hearth filling the center of the backstage portion, opulent furniture to fill the rest of the salon. But the drawing of a chaise lounge instantly flashed the image of Sarah sleeping in front of the fireplace in her home. Sketching rapidly, Erik drew her upon the paper, hoping that it might finally purge his mind of hopeless thoughts.

Why is it hopeless Erik? The foolish voice argued in his mind as Sarah’s form became more detailed upon the paper.

Remember this? He mentally argued back to the voice as he ran his hand on the marred half of his face. He turned again to his work, every detail memorized. I’ll draw this, to have a memory of such a gift and then I will not go back again.

A gift is what you call it? The voice contested. One usually knows if they give a gift, Sarah will have no idea what has happened. What will that do to her hmmm? You are quite good at making people go mad aren’t you?

Erik banged his fist on the desk and yelled at the empty room. “She wouldn’t believe it anyway, she wouldn’t want to believe this exists on this world.”

So if you just want to forget this all as some happy memory, what about the note?

* * * * * * *
Sarah held herself in her arms, hugging tightly to what she felt under her fingers and under her heart. The house was chilled from last night’s storm, but she welcomed the air though it brought a shiver to her skin.

Indeed, there was no sign of the stranger’s presence. The house seemed still, untouched as she wandered from room to room. Entering the sitting room, she saw her popcorn bowl lay on its side; a few kernels trailed over the table and dropped onto the floor alongside an empty beer bottle. Her shorts, top, and panties were scattered throughout the room.The silence was nearly eerie but for the occasional sparrow chirps.

The piece she had bought from Mrs. Annette’s store stood in the sitting room, now in the clarity of sunlight a ludicrous anachronism among its wicker peers.

“Where are you,” she whispered slowly, steadily approaching the mirror that stood high and proud.

Her mouth parted slightly at her own approaching form, lips swollen, more marks dragging over her arms, on her neck, over her breasts. Slowly, barely of her own accord, her hand reached up to touch her face. “Who are you.” Her lips barely moved as she murmured.

She backed away from the mirror, at the sight of her body that had been claimed and branded by another. So long…it had been so long.

* * * * * * *
Erik cursed his own foolishness as he remembered the note left upon the piano. Jumping up, he glanced at the grandfather clock before darting up the pathway to the mirror. Maybe she hasn’t found it yet…I can get it first….then forget this damn madness.

He turned the last corner, seeing the daylight from the room beyond streaming through the looking glass. Erik froze before his body pushed through the mirror. The note was still on the piano cover, but Sarah was already crossing the room.

She was moving slowly, Erik realized, as if there were an unseen weight upon her. Her path twisted around the room before she turned and headed straight for the mirror. Seeing her face and body Erik was unsettled. The harsh light of day illuminated the discolorations, marks made by his hands, his mouth. Her skin was now a collection of yellows, purples, and reds, welts, bruises, and imprints. Erik shook as he watched he regard her reflection. I am the child of the devil. Forgive me Sarah…

He watched her move slowly to the piano, and his traitorous body grew warm at the sight of her bare legs as she moved to sit upon the piano bench. His breath caught as she flipped the cover up, crushing the unnoticed note and moved her hands over the keys.

* * * * * * *
Sarah sat at her piano, lifting the cover over the keys and spreading her fingers over the ivory. She sat, motionless, her bare thighs clinging to the bench as her gown crept up her legs. She hesitated.

Then, without warning and surprising even herself, Sarah began to play. A new song begin to form, hesitant at first but growing in its intensity as she let her mind wander back to the night. The music was low, enticing but burdened by an edge of urgency.

She did not notice the tears that formed, falling silently to the cool keys below as she wept. His hands, his words, it was all so real and yet now blurred with the surreal force of her nightmare.

Do I not feel real…

“Yes,” she spoke in a hush, her eyes closed. “You felt real…” She was shivering as she played, barely covered in her short gown. She thought of her dream, of the man in the boiler room, how his face had matched exactly that which she had seen in the stranger.

“You are…my dream,” she whispered over the music.

* * * * * * *
He waited for an eternity before the first notes began to softly sound. Erik’s heart raced as his melody came rushing back to his ears. She remembers…

It’s a sign…has to be….there’s a reason for all this…his thoughts jumbled in his excitement. Oh Sarah….my angel…..my salvation…

Erik was about to step through the glass when the first sounds of her voice joined the piano. He paused, always eager to hear possible vocal talent.

“You said yourself you were nothing but a man,” she began to sing tentatively, the words fitting with ease into the medley that grew from her fingertips.

Erik listened eagerly, desperate to know what lyrics she would put with his melody. Sing ma cherie…

“But that face I saw….” she closed her eyes, tears clinging to her lashes. “…was not an earthly sight.”

The face…the face she….saw….face….my face. This godforsaken malformation…how did she know? His mind raced through everything, stopping in disbelief as it came to him. Against the wall…lightning…no mask….screams….pleasure?

Erik looked at the broken woman crying and playing the piano. Horror.

Horror….fear…disgust.

What did you expect, devil? ...Fool? ....Look at her!

Erik looked wildly around the chamber desperate to find anything to smash the image in front of him. The lair… a candlestick or an oar…something, anything to destroy this damn thing. Forcing the image of Sarah from his mind, he retraced his steps to the lair, determined to find something that could end this torment.

Her fingers shook as the song spun lower, deeper, she could barely keep with the pace as the music seemed to take on a life of its own. Sarah jumped up, knocking the bench she sat on over in her sudden rise. She slammed the cover closed over the keyboard, her tears now streaming down her face.

“What are you?” she choked into the empty room.

A page of manuscript paper folded in a sharp crease fluttered to the floor. Sarah knelt to pick it up, her arm freezing in its stretch as she read her name scrawled on the page.

She clenched her jaw, breathing in a ragged breath as she opened the note.

Sarah,

You’re playing our song.

-E
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Mirror