Disclaimer: I do not own phantom of the opera hence the whole fan fiction
thing.
A/N: Well this is a morbid little idea that been demanding my attention for a while now. Originally I was too nervous to post this since it is kinda odd so I'm still nervous but my curiosity had gotten the better of me so I'm posting it. For those curious I'm still working on all my other fics but I'm one of those people whose mind won't let them concentrate on one idea at a time. I don't believe this warrants an R rating but it is a strong pg-13. Susan Kay based, it takes place not too long before Nadir first meets Erik and is from Erik's point of view.
~*~
The body
~*~
Perfect I thought as I glided into my tent unseen, utterly perfect. I placed her body carefully on the ground, the shroud still tightly wrapped around her, covering her from my view. Flame by flame illuminated my modest sized tent as I made my rounds, creating the perfect lighting, I would not have shadows caused by an ill placed lamp disturb tonight's work.
With my lips curling into a thin smile, I once again allowed my eyes to look over that seeming mass of cloth lain across the ground while I waved my final match out. It was unbelievable that I was able to find such a perfect specimen! Dead for less than twenty four hours and perfectly intact, no visible cause for death though I had yet to fully inspect her. And she was young, in the prime of her life it seemed. I was indeed curious and looking forward to discovering the cause of her early departure from this world.
After repositioning the last lamp, I began to clear my table. A mess of assorted trinkets and inventions were placed lovingly out of the way to make room for my new prize. I had sufficient water on hand along with my various tools to my side and anything else I may need for this scholarly event. Within the half hour I had managed to put everything in place, it was time.
In a few quick steps I was by her side and lifting her to my arms. Her light weight shocked me as once again I held her, a reminder that it was a woman I was dissecting this time, not a man. I had already thoroughly inspected the workings of the male anatomy but had yet to find a decent female corpse. Unlike men, at this point in my life I had yet to kill a woman, so that cut into my research opportunities quite a bit I must say but it was of no matter.
By pure luck I had found this one, just lying in an alley way in the outskirts of town, all alone. Perhaps there were people searching for her now, or maybe no one cared at all... it was simply a question that would remain unanswered to me. And it was no trouble getting her back here; only murderers and thieves took full advantage of the hours of twilight, how convenient I thought with a wry grin.
I laid her out on the table and once again looked over her covered body; even through the layers of cloth her female form was apparent to me. With held breath, I began to pull the coarse fabric away, slowly revealing her features to the light. I hadn't the chance to get a good look at her when I found her earlier, but now as the candle's glow danced across her pale flesh her obvious beauty momentarily stunned me.
It was not just the appealing set of features, which made up her face but the mark of death it self as it laid a veil of beauty over her skin, kissing her dry of all signs of life. Her skin which only a day ago would have glowed under the harsh summer rays was now void of all pigment, only an enchanting display of white caressed her flawless flesh. Her once voluptuous red lips were now cast with an icy blue hue, though it was not at all unappealing and actually quite alluring to me. Her eyes were closed and would remain that way; never would she look upon me, not even in death.
I glanced quickly down at the rest of her; yes she was obviously poor from the clothing she wore, which was only a simple blouse and skirt looking as though they hadn't been washed or mended in years. But my eyes couldn't help but continue to rest on that face, the face of an angel and ice queen in one.
You see, I have always found an odd beauty in death, an appreciation in that which most people fined morbid and frightening. Perhaps it's because I never feared death. Death was supposed to be a release was it not? Peace at last? Well then I was very good at bringing peace to people. I suppose I even had an artistic flair for it. I wondered if this woman was at peace now.
Without really a coherent thought, I brought my right hand up and cupped the side of her face, turning her head in my direction. Even with my own cold deaths hand I could feel the chill of her skin against my own. I allowed my thumb to gently trace those alluring dark lips when the realization hit that this was the most intimate contact I had ever had with a woman.
Abruptly my hand left her side and I chided myself for allowing my thoughts to stray. She was only another specimen and I would show her the same indifference I showed the others while I sliced her open and satisfied my curiosity.
The shroud was at once quickly pulled away from the rest of her and placed to the side in a heap. I wouldn't look at her face again as my hand hesitantly wavered above the top button of her blouse. Involuntarily I bit into my lower lip, filling my mouth with the sweet taste of blood as I removed that tattered blouse and my fingers began to work on the ties her undergarments.
It was only as I peeled away that final layer of fabric and began to view her pale naked flesh that my gaze was once again drawn to her face. What would she say if she knew that such a creature as I was looking upon her nudity? She'd be disgusted no doubt and perhaps even filled with a loathsome shame. It was even possible that I was the first man, if I could be called that, to look upon her in such away, just as she was the first woman I was to ever see nude.
Again I was stunned by the undeniable beauty death had granted her, my eyes devouring the sight of her. In a meticulous sweep they trailed from the defined base of her neck, to the soft curve of her breasts, and womanly shape of her hips; she was utterly exquisite. Did death's cold embrace leave all such creatures this way before the foul stench of decay set in? How fitting I mused that my appearance is shunned in life yet all will share its fate in death; I simply have the pleasure of experiencing it first hand.
Pulling my eyes away, I moved round the table to gently lift her head and lightly pushed her ample silky curls to the side. With a deep inhale of breath and slightly closed eyes I could not help but allow my long skeletal fingers to entwine them selves in that long lush mane. Such a wondrous sensation it was while those tiny strands coursed between and around my fingers and hand!
Opening my eyes, I let my hand brush her cheek and run down to rest against that magnificent, delicate neck -- broken. Ah, so that was the cause of her fate. Odd how I had suddenly felt a pinch of sorrow while I looked down on that lifeless corpsee.
But why should I care for the fate of this woman? They called me the monster when it was them who would lock a child in a cage, forcing it to endure a humiliation of the worst kind. Was it really a wonder why I cared nothing for mans disgusting existence? I suppose I could have been considered human once, but that was before I gave into the temptation of hate. A person can live their entire life with out ever truly knowing what it is to hate, what it is to be consumed by that dulling emotion, which fills you with a false sense of power. And I knew it by the age of ten!
I looked bitterly at the woman. Did she know what it was to hate? What it was to be utterly disgusted with the thing you've allowed yourself to become; an unfeeling, selfish, apathetic thing! It was their fault. They're the ones who killed the person I could have been. But then I was not all that bad, not yet, and I could still love. I knew that despite how far I distanced myself from these creatures I could never escape that emotion. I would have loved this woman, I know I would have, had I known her. Seems I had a bad habit of falling in love with beautiful objects.
What would it have been like I wondered suddenly, to love a woman, to hold her in my arms and feel her warm flesh against my own? So many men took a woman's love for granted, I would not have. I would have treasured her and laid the world at her feet if only I could feel those soft lips pressed against my own. But this lifeless, beautiful corpse, which I fully intended to take apart piece by piece, was the closest I would ever be to a woman's flesh.
I took up the surgical knife by my side and held it just below her collar bone. Making the mistake of taking in her entire appearance once more, my gaze drifted down her body causing my own to begin to scream and twist in agony with a perverse desire for this woman. I wanted her, my entire body demanded it! But not like this, I wanted her alive and willing. I knew how I would have made love to this woman, how I would have touched her body and tasted her skin.
My eyes blurred and my mind raced to that vision quickly ascending on my thoughts. I could see her there, alive and with eyes shining with desire, rising up with an arching back while her curls brushed the cool surface of the table. She would beckon me to her side and hold me close while my lips kissed the satiny skin down her elegant neck. My hands would delicately caress her sides and back with the lightest touch, using only the pads of my fingers as I paid homage to her body. I could see her smile and laugh in delight as my mouth passed over her soft full breasts before rising to taste her lightly parted lips. I would claim her lips only as I claimed her body, drinking in her moan with ecstasy as every movement, every touch would be for her.
I could see the joy and pleasure in her angelic face while her tiny hand rose to my face and ripped away my mask. And then would come the screams. Those horrid, blood curdling, ear-piercing cries of pure terror and disgust would pore from her mouth and stab the very core of my soul. Screams like the ones I thought I had forgotten would fill the entire room, reminding me of so many painful memories, flooding my mind with rage.
And she would push at me with tears streaming down her face. Frantically she would try to get away screaming hysterically that I raped her, that I was a monster from hell. And as my rage took over I would silence her. My hands would grip that delicate neck and squeeze with furious strength until her body fell limp beneath mine. She would look at me with shocked, bulging eyes as she struggled for breath and I would not care; I would be the monster she claimed me to be. And once she was dead, I would close those eyes that I would never see.
The clatter of the surgical knife striking the table wrenched me back to reality. I stepped back a few paces, closing my eyes tightly to the vision that still tortured my mind. I would have killed her, I truly would have and I hated her for it. I now loved and hated this corpse laid out before me, a nameless body I found in the streets.
A few silent tears escaped from my welled up eyes causing my skin to becoming hot and sticky beneath my mask. Hesitantly I lifted it away to wipe my face but still I could not break my stare from that body. I knew then I could no longer do it, not when I knew her so intimately, the only woman to let me touch her. Besides, she had given me a lot to think about, a pleasant reminder as to why I could never even attempt to win a woman's heart. And so I buried her just before dawn and sung her requiem as the sun rose in the morning sky. Perhaps she will forgive me the liberties I had taken now that she was at peace, though I still I wonder what her name was.
~*~
R&R Please @}---
A/N: Well this is a morbid little idea that been demanding my attention for a while now. Originally I was too nervous to post this since it is kinda odd so I'm still nervous but my curiosity had gotten the better of me so I'm posting it. For those curious I'm still working on all my other fics but I'm one of those people whose mind won't let them concentrate on one idea at a time. I don't believe this warrants an R rating but it is a strong pg-13. Susan Kay based, it takes place not too long before Nadir first meets Erik and is from Erik's point of view.
~*~
The body
~*~
Perfect I thought as I glided into my tent unseen, utterly perfect. I placed her body carefully on the ground, the shroud still tightly wrapped around her, covering her from my view. Flame by flame illuminated my modest sized tent as I made my rounds, creating the perfect lighting, I would not have shadows caused by an ill placed lamp disturb tonight's work.
With my lips curling into a thin smile, I once again allowed my eyes to look over that seeming mass of cloth lain across the ground while I waved my final match out. It was unbelievable that I was able to find such a perfect specimen! Dead for less than twenty four hours and perfectly intact, no visible cause for death though I had yet to fully inspect her. And she was young, in the prime of her life it seemed. I was indeed curious and looking forward to discovering the cause of her early departure from this world.
After repositioning the last lamp, I began to clear my table. A mess of assorted trinkets and inventions were placed lovingly out of the way to make room for my new prize. I had sufficient water on hand along with my various tools to my side and anything else I may need for this scholarly event. Within the half hour I had managed to put everything in place, it was time.
In a few quick steps I was by her side and lifting her to my arms. Her light weight shocked me as once again I held her, a reminder that it was a woman I was dissecting this time, not a man. I had already thoroughly inspected the workings of the male anatomy but had yet to find a decent female corpse. Unlike men, at this point in my life I had yet to kill a woman, so that cut into my research opportunities quite a bit I must say but it was of no matter.
By pure luck I had found this one, just lying in an alley way in the outskirts of town, all alone. Perhaps there were people searching for her now, or maybe no one cared at all... it was simply a question that would remain unanswered to me. And it was no trouble getting her back here; only murderers and thieves took full advantage of the hours of twilight, how convenient I thought with a wry grin.
I laid her out on the table and once again looked over her covered body; even through the layers of cloth her female form was apparent to me. With held breath, I began to pull the coarse fabric away, slowly revealing her features to the light. I hadn't the chance to get a good look at her when I found her earlier, but now as the candle's glow danced across her pale flesh her obvious beauty momentarily stunned me.
It was not just the appealing set of features, which made up her face but the mark of death it self as it laid a veil of beauty over her skin, kissing her dry of all signs of life. Her skin which only a day ago would have glowed under the harsh summer rays was now void of all pigment, only an enchanting display of white caressed her flawless flesh. Her once voluptuous red lips were now cast with an icy blue hue, though it was not at all unappealing and actually quite alluring to me. Her eyes were closed and would remain that way; never would she look upon me, not even in death.
I glanced quickly down at the rest of her; yes she was obviously poor from the clothing she wore, which was only a simple blouse and skirt looking as though they hadn't been washed or mended in years. But my eyes couldn't help but continue to rest on that face, the face of an angel and ice queen in one.
You see, I have always found an odd beauty in death, an appreciation in that which most people fined morbid and frightening. Perhaps it's because I never feared death. Death was supposed to be a release was it not? Peace at last? Well then I was very good at bringing peace to people. I suppose I even had an artistic flair for it. I wondered if this woman was at peace now.
Without really a coherent thought, I brought my right hand up and cupped the side of her face, turning her head in my direction. Even with my own cold deaths hand I could feel the chill of her skin against my own. I allowed my thumb to gently trace those alluring dark lips when the realization hit that this was the most intimate contact I had ever had with a woman.
Abruptly my hand left her side and I chided myself for allowing my thoughts to stray. She was only another specimen and I would show her the same indifference I showed the others while I sliced her open and satisfied my curiosity.
The shroud was at once quickly pulled away from the rest of her and placed to the side in a heap. I wouldn't look at her face again as my hand hesitantly wavered above the top button of her blouse. Involuntarily I bit into my lower lip, filling my mouth with the sweet taste of blood as I removed that tattered blouse and my fingers began to work on the ties her undergarments.
It was only as I peeled away that final layer of fabric and began to view her pale naked flesh that my gaze was once again drawn to her face. What would she say if she knew that such a creature as I was looking upon her nudity? She'd be disgusted no doubt and perhaps even filled with a loathsome shame. It was even possible that I was the first man, if I could be called that, to look upon her in such away, just as she was the first woman I was to ever see nude.
Again I was stunned by the undeniable beauty death had granted her, my eyes devouring the sight of her. In a meticulous sweep they trailed from the defined base of her neck, to the soft curve of her breasts, and womanly shape of her hips; she was utterly exquisite. Did death's cold embrace leave all such creatures this way before the foul stench of decay set in? How fitting I mused that my appearance is shunned in life yet all will share its fate in death; I simply have the pleasure of experiencing it first hand.
Pulling my eyes away, I moved round the table to gently lift her head and lightly pushed her ample silky curls to the side. With a deep inhale of breath and slightly closed eyes I could not help but allow my long skeletal fingers to entwine them selves in that long lush mane. Such a wondrous sensation it was while those tiny strands coursed between and around my fingers and hand!
Opening my eyes, I let my hand brush her cheek and run down to rest against that magnificent, delicate neck -- broken. Ah, so that was the cause of her fate. Odd how I had suddenly felt a pinch of sorrow while I looked down on that lifeless corpsee.
But why should I care for the fate of this woman? They called me the monster when it was them who would lock a child in a cage, forcing it to endure a humiliation of the worst kind. Was it really a wonder why I cared nothing for mans disgusting existence? I suppose I could have been considered human once, but that was before I gave into the temptation of hate. A person can live their entire life with out ever truly knowing what it is to hate, what it is to be consumed by that dulling emotion, which fills you with a false sense of power. And I knew it by the age of ten!
I looked bitterly at the woman. Did she know what it was to hate? What it was to be utterly disgusted with the thing you've allowed yourself to become; an unfeeling, selfish, apathetic thing! It was their fault. They're the ones who killed the person I could have been. But then I was not all that bad, not yet, and I could still love. I knew that despite how far I distanced myself from these creatures I could never escape that emotion. I would have loved this woman, I know I would have, had I known her. Seems I had a bad habit of falling in love with beautiful objects.
What would it have been like I wondered suddenly, to love a woman, to hold her in my arms and feel her warm flesh against my own? So many men took a woman's love for granted, I would not have. I would have treasured her and laid the world at her feet if only I could feel those soft lips pressed against my own. But this lifeless, beautiful corpse, which I fully intended to take apart piece by piece, was the closest I would ever be to a woman's flesh.
I took up the surgical knife by my side and held it just below her collar bone. Making the mistake of taking in her entire appearance once more, my gaze drifted down her body causing my own to begin to scream and twist in agony with a perverse desire for this woman. I wanted her, my entire body demanded it! But not like this, I wanted her alive and willing. I knew how I would have made love to this woman, how I would have touched her body and tasted her skin.
My eyes blurred and my mind raced to that vision quickly ascending on my thoughts. I could see her there, alive and with eyes shining with desire, rising up with an arching back while her curls brushed the cool surface of the table. She would beckon me to her side and hold me close while my lips kissed the satiny skin down her elegant neck. My hands would delicately caress her sides and back with the lightest touch, using only the pads of my fingers as I paid homage to her body. I could see her smile and laugh in delight as my mouth passed over her soft full breasts before rising to taste her lightly parted lips. I would claim her lips only as I claimed her body, drinking in her moan with ecstasy as every movement, every touch would be for her.
I could see the joy and pleasure in her angelic face while her tiny hand rose to my face and ripped away my mask. And then would come the screams. Those horrid, blood curdling, ear-piercing cries of pure terror and disgust would pore from her mouth and stab the very core of my soul. Screams like the ones I thought I had forgotten would fill the entire room, reminding me of so many painful memories, flooding my mind with rage.
And she would push at me with tears streaming down her face. Frantically she would try to get away screaming hysterically that I raped her, that I was a monster from hell. And as my rage took over I would silence her. My hands would grip that delicate neck and squeeze with furious strength until her body fell limp beneath mine. She would look at me with shocked, bulging eyes as she struggled for breath and I would not care; I would be the monster she claimed me to be. And once she was dead, I would close those eyes that I would never see.
The clatter of the surgical knife striking the table wrenched me back to reality. I stepped back a few paces, closing my eyes tightly to the vision that still tortured my mind. I would have killed her, I truly would have and I hated her for it. I now loved and hated this corpse laid out before me, a nameless body I found in the streets.
A few silent tears escaped from my welled up eyes causing my skin to becoming hot and sticky beneath my mask. Hesitantly I lifted it away to wipe my face but still I could not break my stare from that body. I knew then I could no longer do it, not when I knew her so intimately, the only woman to let me touch her. Besides, she had given me a lot to think about, a pleasant reminder as to why I could never even attempt to win a woman's heart. And so I buried her just before dawn and sung her requiem as the sun rose in the morning sky. Perhaps she will forgive me the liberties I had taken now that she was at peace, though I still I wonder what her name was.
~*~
R&R Please @}---