Past the point of no return

BY : spikesbint
Category: M through R > Phantom of the Opera
Dragon prints: 31287
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera movie(s), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Disclaimer: The Leroux/ALW characters are not mine. I borrowed them for a while to play with, except for some original characters, which belong to me, along with this story's text. No monies are being made from its creation and it is entirely for entertainment purposes

The Phantom’s lair
Chapter 1

He watched as his boat carried her away. She turned to look at him one last time and as she did so, he caught an emotion close to longing in her eyes. All too soon, she was lost from view in the darkness of the catacombs. He really believed at that moment, after reading her eyes, that if she could have torn herself in two, she would have come to him and stayed at his side. However, the pull of air and light and freedom were too strong for her young heart.

The rage and loss bubbled up inside of him as he grabbed a huge candelabrum and smashed the large mirror. Loathing for the reflection of the hideous creature he saw in its silvery depths, filled him. His anger not yet sated, he destroyed another and another, to reveal a secret tunnel. The cries of the angry mob grew louder to his ears as he stepped inside and drew the curtain over the broken frame.

He wiped away the tears that were blinding his vision. She had kissed him. the canker that distorted his face had mattered not to her. For one blinding moment, she had looked on him with love and had kissed his lips as if she was kissing a lover. He had felt her warmth and it had eased that ache of loneliness, which was his burden to bear. He knew he could not condemn her to a life of darkness, and as much as it pained him, he had released her.

He knew that he could disappear into the maze of tunnels never to be found, but he had meant it when he said that the music was over. The opera house above him burned. A few stray tendrils of smoke had reached even to these depths. There would be no more Christine to fill his waking moments. With her voice, ringing out strong and true, filling his solitude with her song.

He continued up the tunnel until he came to a small alcove. It was purposely equipped for such an occasion as this one. He took the black travelling cape and bag. It was filled with bank notes, coins, and some fresh clothing. He opened it and took out a white papier-mâché mask, an exact replica of the one he had left behind.

He still had the ring she had given him. Erik clenched it so tightly in his hand that the stones had dug into the flesh of his palm and caused it to bleed. Not unlike his tattered heart, he mused. As he scrambled out of the basements of the opera house, he was in time to see Christine alight a carriage. It was tethered to those same fine horses he had mocked the Vicomte for, only moments ago.

His heart broke afresh, seeing them wrapped in each other’s arms. He stood for as long as he dared, as the carriage disappeared into the night mist before blending into the darkness himself.

Madame Giry stepped out from the shadows and watched him walk away from the only home he had ever known since his flight for freedom those long years ago. He was fleeing into the world for the first time. She hoped in her heart that the fates would look down on him with kindness, of which had so far been denied him.

“Au revoir mon ami,” she whispered to him. She touched her fingers to her lips, as she turned and walked away in the direction of the opera house dorms where her daughter Meg waited with the others.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Six Months Later, the Chagny estate.

Christine settled back into her husband’s arms, their tour of Europe had been perfect. The wedding had been the stuff of fairytales. They had departed on their trip almost immediately after the ceremony. The couple had both wished to wipe away the memories of their ordeal at the hands of her maestro, although Raoul had been more enthusiastic in the matter.

She glanced at Raoul, watching him as he slept away the remainder of their journey. Christine looked out of the window at the fast approaching night. She closed her eyes for a moment. It was then that the memory of her angel of music flooded her head, like the remembrance of a beloved song. Would she ever be free, did she want to be? A traitorous part of her mind whispered to her.

Only now, when she was a married woman in the fullest sense of the word did she understand the strange feelings, which Erik had aroused in her. When he had caressed her skin during the performance of Don Juan and she had given in to his touch willingly. It was only later that Raoul had told her that it had been like watching another man make love to her on the stage and that he'd feared that he had lost her forever.

The words of that song came back to her…how long should we two wait before we’re one. She had wanted his touch. Her body had been in flames with desire for him and he had read it in her eyes. She drew back in shock as her mind imagined his hands on her naked skin still. She could see his skilled hands caressing her, making music of the flesh, while her cries rang out as if on a crescendo of an aria. Raoul had been closer to the truth than she would ever dare admit. Her cheeks flushed guiltily at her immoral thoughts. Even now, her absentee tutor still had a frightening hold over her. Raoul owned her heart, but the phantom owned her soul, and that scared her more than anything else did.

She wondered if he still resided in his dark self-inflicted prison beneath the burned out opera house. Maybe he had found love and sunlight to warm his tortured soul. She hoped he had, for his sake. His disfigurement had meant nothing to her and when she had kissed him, she had not even seen it. Christine had loved him for the man that he was and the gift of his music, which he had shared with her, his student.

The carriage jolted at it hit a rut in the road, causing her husband to awaken. He looked over at her and smiled.

“What could cause such sadness on a day like this?” he asked her, moving closer to her.

She shivered as if someone had stepped on her grave. The moment passed and she smiled at him. “Not sad my love, just wondering how I will fare as mistress of such a large household,” she lied.

Raoul heard the lie in her voice, but dismissed it. He often saw the dark shadows of the past in her eyes, knowing they would never be fully gone from them. He knew that the phantom had managed to reach her heart in a way he never could, but that he had her love was enough for him.

He lowered his head to kiss her before pulling away, holding onto her hand. “You will do just fine. How can they help but love you, as I do?” he asked. “Besides, Madame Giry is there so you will not be totally among strangers,”

She smiled at him, having forgotten of her former guardian’s new appointment as housekeeper. Meg had joined another ballet corps and still lived in Paris. She missed her friend whom was the closest thing to a sister to her. However, her future lay within the grey walls of her husband’s chateau. Her singing, abandoned to her new station in life. She sighed wistfully as she remembered her days when nothing else had existed except the stage and music.

The carriage finally came to its journey’s end a few feet from the main door. The staff was already lined up to greet the new mistress. Christine felt daunted by the evidence of the sheer number of people it took to maintain the Vicomte’s residence. She smiled at all the expectant faces as her husband assisted her from the carriage. Madame Giry was standing at the top of the steps, a smile of welcome on her face.

Christine I love you….

She froze as a ghostly voice carried on the night air, no more audible than a sigh. Christine looked at her husband, her eyes widening. “Did you hear that?” she asked. She looked at Madame Giry too, her earlier smile had faded as she turned and walked inside the great house.

Her husband looked at her strangely “No my love I heard nothing, come let’s get you inside. You are fatigued by our long journey,” He smiled, and placed an arm around her, leading her up the stone steps and into the main hall.

“Yes, that must be it,” she agreed as he guided her to the parlour, where a roaring fire greeted them both. She rubbed her hands drawing warmth from the fire, but as much as she tried, it failed to permeate the coldness that had settled in her heart.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She lay awake in the huge expanse that was her bed. Her husband rested at her side, one arm flung over his head. They had made tender love only an hour earlier. As much as she loved her husband, it always felt as if there was something lacking or he were holding back from her. Her spirit was wild and dark on the inside. It was a part of her nature that she concealed from her tender husband and a part that only the phantom had tapped in to. She yearned to be loved in the same way. Passion burned, consumed, and ate at the soul. She had sung it in song and she longed to experience it in body.

The throbbing between her legs had not been sated by Raoul’s touch…she closed her eyes and her Angel’s image flooded her mind. How could she have these feelings for one man while wed to another? She asked herself. After a quick glance at her husband to re-assure herself that he continued to sleep, she pulled back the covers and left the bed to walk over to the balcony. She opened the doors onto the silvery moonlight. The park was large, shadowy and dark.

He watched from the darkness, drawing back as she walked out into the night air. Her form was outlined in her sheer garments, leaving nothing to his starved imagination. He heard her sigh, as it carried on the wind. The sound called out to him. She closed her eyes as his song, softly sung reached her ears. She smiled sadly, convinced that it was her mind playing tricks on her again. The sound ran through her veins like molten fire, and she touched her throat. Her hand of its own volition slowly crept lower to touch a lace-covered breast.

His voice almost faltered for a moment as he watched her touching herself so intimately. Erik wished with all his heart, that it were his hands stroking her to completion. He hardened painfully as he continued to sing, continuing to observe her hand as it reached under the hem of her nightgown. Her little gasp was almost his undoing as his voice died in his throat.

Her eyes snapped open as if awakened from a trance. She flushed guiltily and removed her fingers from beneath her clothing. She looked around, as if sensing she was not alone. She quickly walked back inside; closed the doors and rejoined her husband in the bed.

Erik turned and fled back to his home, the ruined summerhouse at the edges of the Vicomte de Chagny’s vast estate. His body thrummed with unsated desire for his soul mate, who even now called out to him in the darkness.


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