The Usual: Don't own the characters or the original Phantom of the Opera storyline nor Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber's music (if I get around to using it… we'll see), I just like to manipulate it all in my own little world. -:maniacal laughter:-
The Jist: The goal here is E/C romance eventually (woo hoo!), Raoul friendly (because I don't hold much against him),and the story itself is post everything (you know what I mean, right?). I'm trying something new…at least I haven't seen anyone else try it. Hopefully I'm not spoiling anything by putting this, but I also don't know a lot about vampires so I'm making up a few of my own rules. Should probably go back and add that I don't own Bram Stoker's Dracula but technically the book was written after this timeline anyway so I can't use it without taking full advantage of the artistic license thing. :)
Let's see how it goes. Enjoy!
Once Bitten…
Erik pulled his cloak closer around his broad shoulders. It was not the first time he asked himself what had possessed him to leave the Opera Populaire for the supposed comfort of the frigid air and biting wind, but at least he was alone and away from the racket of reconstruction. It seemed no matter how many members of the construction crew he killed, another three took his place with an eager hammer, effectively smashing Erik's artistic and creative flow.
He shivered slightly then ignored the cold more effectively, disgusted that such a simple thing as a winter chill should disrupt his reverie. No, he ignored the creeping freeze that was slowly saturating his shoes as he tramped through the deep snow. He scowled slightly, afraid his evening dress would be incomplete without his shined black boots should they be ruined. Erik reminded himself yet again that he had indeed chosen to walk about on a lone winter night. He took in where his feet had carried him. A cemetery, how fitting. Erik stopped walking and the only sound was the soft patter of large snowflakes accumulating with their brothers.
Sighing heavily and shaking the snow from his shoulders, he made his way past the aged, squeaking gates. Silence at last. It was true, even during peak market hours there was always silence here in the alcoves of trees and tombstones. And besides, few searched for Death amongst the dead. Running his fingers over a random marker, Erik dusted the snow away and reminisced both fondly and darkly. In this very cemetery, he had lured Christine and it was this same place he had frequented when the police had claimed to be searching for him. After some time, it was easier just to escape than listen to their pitiful cries for help or their jeering jokes when they believed no one was there to hear their threats and boasts. Erik could only take so much disruption in his work, especially at such depressing point in his life. Christine was gone.
He could have kept her. She would have stayed, if he'd commanded her to. But he'd let her go. Erik turned his head sharply, ordering his mind to forget; it was safer than remembering. Too late, tears formed in the corners of his eyes as the scar tissue tore readily. Willing his mind to ignore the pain, he forced the memories away, back to the subconscious where they would reappear in his dreams yet again.
Erik again questioned what had driven him to leave the walls of the opera on such a dreary, lonely night. The moon broke through the clouds with a brilliant glow that reflected off Erik's mask and the surrounding snow. His mind instantly drifted to another luminous memory: the lamps around the edge of the stage as he stepped out in Piangi's place, reveling in the glory of his work and the passion that passed between himself and Christine.
As the moon was smothered in shadow, so reflected Erik's thoughts as he naturally returned to what she had done soon after. Raising a hand to his face, Erik recalled his shame and the mortification of betrayal when Christine performed her own cruel torture and unmasked him before the full house. Screams still echoed in his mind.
Yet for all she had done he loved her still. Erik could not fathom the emotion, never understanding that love was never to be completely understood by anyone, and when he was honest with himself it scared him but thrilled him all at once. He had dreamt of simple daily caresses, of lying next to her in the same bed, of spending intimate moments in front of a blazing grate. Sometimes, it does not do to hope.
The moon emerged from the clouds once more and Erik glanced up indifferently, watching the snowflakes fall as he clasped his hands behind his back and meandered between the aisles of graves, shifting from one foot to the other slowly. It was a lovely scene, the pristine snow easily blanketing the broken tombstones, decayed flowers, and dormant trees. If only my scars could be covered so efficiently.
The Daàe mausoleum stood before him, unchanged since he'd last seen it save for six fresh roses dusted with snow near the door. Erik grimaced and turned away again, gritting his teeth slightly in an effort to restrain emotions. Christine had been here and not long ago, but there were two sets of footprints in the snow. Nearly choking on unreleased sobs building to a pounding pressure in his chest, he sat down on a stone bench pushing his palms to his eyes to prevent impending tears.
Remembering he was alone, Erik pulled the mask from his face and stared at it through bleary icy-blue eyes. He ran his fingers down the surface of the mask; the scars of his miserable childhood, solitary adolescence, and his tortured adult life were covered by a mask of a different sort, one acquired through time and experience. Far too often he lost himself in the mask he presented to the world. He had thought Christine would be the one to get through that mask and for a time she did. But in the end, it only made him vulnerable for a worse rejection. There were times when he was sure it was worth it; whether it was better to have love and lost than not at all was subject to internal (and eternal) debate.
A few branches rustled in the wind and Erik eyes instantly followed the waving tree. It's just a tree, don't be so nervous. Nevertheless, he resumed a high guard.
"Oy! You!"
Erik tensed at the voice. He sat up sharply, bearing a dagger while his eyes searched for the source. The only sound was that of his fluttering cloak and his own carefully controlled breathing. No corner of a jacket or a wisp of hair met Erik's vision as he carefully scoped the landscape.
"Hey, you!"
Erik moved slowly around, checking his surroundings more closely. By the sound of the voice, it could have come from nearly any direction.
"You could just answer. It would be the proper response."
An incredulous look passed through Erik's features before he quickly concealed it with a blank expression. "Where are you?"
"My, my. Demanding, eh?"
Erik grinned internally; this man didn't know the half of it. "So I've been told."
"Just calm down and put your mask back on."
Erik had to fight harder to remove evidence of shock from his face as he walked back over to where his mask had fallen from his lap. Brushing off the snow, he thought it best to comply, bide his time.
"Just take a seat. I'm not sure where to begin."
"Where are you? Who are you?"
"Yes, very demanding. Well, who I am will come later but I'm right in front of you."
Arching an eyebrow skeptically, Erik waved his hand before him. "There's no such thing as ghosts, monsieur. I ought to know."
"Ah, yes. Monsieur le Fantôme, I should have known. You're the reining expert," the voice replied sarcastically. Erik's eyes widened with surprise. "Yes I know who you are but let's just say you're not the only one who can hide in the shadows. Now look this time."
Erik, not entirely certain that he wasn't dreaming, stood from his bench and walked forward. Looking for anything that could possibly be the source of the voice, he finally came up to a small tree though certain that no man could hide behind the thin trunk.
"Where are you?" he repeated.
The voice sighed. "Over here, you dolt."
Erik's eyes flashed with anger but he turned to his left and saw a strange dark clump in the branches. Inspecting more closely, he saw that it was a common bat.
He muttered to himself, "That's ridiculous. An ordinary bat can't talk."
The creature twisted its head to size Erik up. "Well if you say so, I suppose then I'm far from ordinary."
Gasping with surprise, Erik took a few quick steps back. The bat melted into a shadow and slid down the tree trunk with amazing speed and grace. The shadow, more than a mere shade, seemed made of the darkest night as it slid across the pure snow, dulling the sparkling glint. The shadow expanded and stretched until it was nearly as tall as Erik before materializing into a man. Erik stumbled back again. The man grinned mildly and gestured with his hand, "Have a seat before you pass out." Erik's knees automatically folded under him and he smacked down on the cold stone bench once more.
Erik took in the man before him. He had fair hair, drawn back in a ponytail. His clothes would not be out of place in high society with elegant deep grey slacks and matching jacket along and a deep blue vest, all covered by a black cloak. The man's eyes were dark, nearly black.
"Are you quite finished?"
Embarrassed, Erik stammered momentarily before collecting himself again though any further questions were waved aside.
"Never mind that now, we can get to questions later. Honestly, don't you know your folklore? Anyway," the man flashed a malevolent smile displaying perfect white teeth with two oversized canines, "I have a proposition for you."
It wasn't the last time Erik wondered why he had ventured out into the cold winter night.
∞†∞
Authoress Babbling: (I'm so happy my dividers semi-showed up) So how's that for a beginning? Input would be greatly appreciated; I'm still trying to figure out where to go. I have a few vague concepts that I want to include but so far this has been one of those pieces where you sit down and write and you never really know what's going to come out. Ideas, comments, I need to fix something, dare I say praise?.. okay maybe that was too much to ask :) Anyway, Please let me know!