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Post by eliza on Apr 6, 2008 19:31:11 GMT -5
reserved for: Erik.
[ooc: i decided to make it in this part of the board since.. technically the 'leading lady' room doesn't really belong to her. but it's still going to be set in that room] but i'm not the only one... [/font] She could feel her stomach begin to churn as she made her way farther and farther down the hall. Occasionally, she would peer over her shoulder to check the corridor behind her. There was anxiety creeping in her chest, the kind of anxiety that you weren't sure whether you wanted to welcome it or whether you wanted to politely send it on its way, hoping that it wouldn't stop by again any time soon.
Carefully, she stopped in front of the large doors and placed her hand on the knob, her eyes staring down at her slightly trembling hand. The idea of coming here had popped into her head a little over a day or two ago. If she was Erik, and Erik was looking for her, where would he look first? Her dressing room, perhaps, because that was where the mirror was kept, right? Of course! She'd thought it to be a brilliant little idea until now, 'now' being when the nerves started to creep into her stomach. Did she really want to see him as badly as she'd thought?
Or perhaps Meg was right, and perhaps he wasn't here. But Christine had read the Epoque every week, or at least she'd thought so! And every time she'd read it, she was absolutely positive that it had never said anything about his death any where! Unless someone else had seen it... what if Raoul had seen it and hidden it from her because he didn't want her to go back? Her eyebrows knit in a fine line, and she turned the doorknob in a determined fashion.
Upon entering the room, Christine swallowed with some difficulty and closed the door behind her. Nonchalantly she meandered around the room for a bit, observing anything that may have changed while she was gone. She stopped at the wardrobe and ran her fingers across the carved wood, smiling slightly before averting her gaze to the floor and stepping away, moving gracefully towards the bed. She sat down, emitting a light sigh as her eyes swept over the room, eventually locking with the eyes of her reflection in the small mirror of the old vanity sitting on the wall across from her. Quietly she stood and stepped over, pulling the bench out and sitting down.
She examined her reflection carefully, fruffling her curls occasionally or running her fingers through them... running a finger daintily across an eyebrow or her upper lip, humming quietly as she did so.
Even if he wasn't here, she was having a rather relaxing time simply sitting here in her old dressing room, acting as if she was imagining that it was the days before she was married, before she'd had to worry about other suitors making Erik jealous or angry with her. That was enough to satisfy her until she had to leave and go back to her designated room.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Apr 10, 2008 1:52:11 GMT -5
Sitting in the ruin of his home, Erik had yet to begin cleaning the area, although he'd raided the stock of candles in the store-rooms. Yes. Even though the world up above was now in full swing, his world had stopped, and ended with that final good-bye of his Angel. That sweet little girl had gone away with her Vicomte, and had left him to this: To nothing but empty music sheets, his own disfigured form glimmering back at him upon the floor in a thousand shards. How could he ever pick up the pieces and become whole again? Looking down at the shards, Erik reached down and lifted two of them up to eye level. Placing them together to form a single, solid, reflection.
All he saw in that mirror in his palm, was the monster, the creature that had been shunned since his birth. His fault for being inhuman, his fault for everything and anything. It hurt, stabbing him to the core where he'd always hurt the most, emptying the blackness of his soul further. She should've been his salvation, his only thing in this entire world to love and to treasure. Yet look what she had done? Snarling at the reflection Erik threw the shards away into the lake. Listening to the splash, his anger rising.
She had killed him! Murdered him! They'd even thought him dead, gone, to Hell is where he'd went a mortal, living Hell! She'd not come, she'd never come to bury his corpse. She'd allow the rodents to have their fill, his flesh to decay further, and then the bones to glitter eerily in his final resting place until someone ventured down to find the dead man. A man dead of a broken heart!
The air about him was becoming most suffocating, and as he was reliving the follies of his life, of his world. Erik, stepped into the gondola lighted by the lantern at the front to lead the way. Like a wrath he moved, silent as death across the placid waters, until he reached the winding tunnels of the catacombs, and cellars. Tyeing off his only mode of watery transport, he made his way though the inventive side walls, rooms, pulleys to where he belonged to be. To a place he had been just a year prior, content to watch the beauties of beauties in her room. Making a living portrait for him.
Fitting his way through the passageway that lead to the face of the Mirror, Madame Giry had neglected in pinning up his voyeuristic habitat. The cobwebs had full reign in his absence, silently sweeping his hand the torches lit as though the magic that was Le Fantome was all they had been waiting for. Lighting his way, burning aside the rodents, the insects. Anything keeping him from that large, rectangular mirror. His window to the outside world, his window to.....He stopped short as the vision came into view.
Christine....
She sat there on a bench before the mirror, openly toying with him if that was her cause. Like a moth to a flame he went, succumbing to her call, to her beauty. Knowing well she could not see him, hear him, he was dead to her and he placed a hand against the glass where he might've caressed her face. There was no warm, hot, young flesh awaiting him, only the hard press of a cold barrier. The barrier that was the world, that was life, that was perfection as he was imperfect.
"Christine....Oh......Christine....." His broken song whispered to her, as he came to his knees before the mirror. Looking up at her on her perch as though she were a Goddess of old. Unable to love her, touch her, unable to do anything but loathe her, to hate her, and yet at the sight of her his heart broke just a little more. She was no vision, she was no figment of his madness, she was real. The glittering of her engagement and wedding ring on her hand proved it to him. Snarling, angry, he wanted to strike the glass, to break it to, wrap his hands around that slender neck.
"Christine!" He yelled in a rage, spittle sparking out of his deformed lips as he touched the glass for support. Fallen back onto his legs tucked beneath him, how he wanted to cry for his misfortune.
"Christine...Why!..Why?" He encouraged against the glass, this time he manipulated anything he had for her to hear. If he was insane, he'd make her think she was half insane as well. An eye for an eye.
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Post by eliza on Apr 10, 2008 14:20:29 GMT -5
Christine felt a chill shoot up her spine. Had she heard something? Her expression had frozen to one of shock. Her face had paled considerably, leaving her looking rather... ghostly, if she could say that without being accused of concocting some sort of pun. Clearing her throat, she brushed a few curls away from her face as if attempting to gain her composure again.
No, she hadn't heard anything. There was nobody here, she was insane to think that, wasn't she? Obviously this was just her imagination toying with her, tempting her to resurrect the old memories that she'd hidden away for the previous three years.
A sad sigh fell from the young woman's lips as she smoothed her skirts across her legs. She scooted the bench back, fumbling to keep a hold of it as it tilted backwards a bit. The last thing she needed was someone storming into the room and ratting her up one side and down the other for being somewhere that she probably wasn't supposed to be in the first place. She began to turn to walk around behind the bench when the voluminous sound reached her ears. Out of sheer surprise and what was probably fright, she stepped on the hem of her skirt and tripped forward with a shriek. The bench tumbled over with the seat against the floor and the legs sticking up, and little Christine stuck in the middle of it. Her eyes were wide with surprise, her face the same pale shade it had been previously.
Clumsily she pushed her self up, wiping the dust off her skirts and staring directly at the mirror. This couldn't be happening. Or could it? She'd been so eager to prove to herself that he was still here that she'd convinced herself into believing that he wasn't.
Then his voice was there again. She sucked in a gasp of air and turned about, eyeing every corner of the room in the same way she'd done the first time he'd ever spoken to her. But this wasn't the same, the magic of it all was lost now. Now she knew that he was no angel, but a mere man. A man who had deceived her, at that. Her eyebrows knit into a fine line as she turned around again. Even if he wasn't there and she was alone, and this was just her temper rising up and wishing to be deflated again.
"Christine... Why! ... Why?"
Her small, ivory hands clenched into fists and she took two steps towards the mirror. She stared into it, feeling as though her anger was radiating off of her small body and contaminating the entire room.
"I could ask you the same question, you know!" She snapped, her small chest moving up and down at a rapid rate. Straightening herself, Christine sighed and placed her palms over her face.
"Oh, who am I fooling," she sighed disappointedly to herself, turning away from the mirror and dropping her hands back to her sides, "you're not there, and I know you're not." A slightly ragged sigh was released and she sat down on the bed, staring at the mirror almost longingly. "It's just my imagination speaking for me... reminding me of how his voice sounds," she laughed to herself. "Though why it would ever need to has me puzzled. After all, it isn't like I ever forgot how it sounds." She muttered, wrinkling her nose a bit. Her voice had been nearly inaudible and the words almost incoherent, but obviously she knew just exactly what she'd said. Christine sniffed slightly and leaned back against the wall. "Only a complete moron would put themself through that kind of torture."
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