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Name: Silence | Gender: Female | Age: 19 | Posts: 2 | Roses: 10
Old 04-12-2012 at 01:23 PM
S i l e n c e
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[[ Silence in the Darkness ]]  Post [1] »

Silence in the Darkness
Phantom of the Opera & Love Never Dies companion
First in the Silence Series
Inspired by Poto/LND -ALW, Poto - GL
All original characters belong to either Andrew Lloyd Webber or Gaston Leroux
All made up characters belong to me
Warning - minor swearing and slight violence in chapter two

Silence, is something that no one, living or not, can achieve. Erik is one of the few who has achieved this great feat. One might say that Erik is a true ghost, but others will tell you that he’s just like you and I, but his heart is a fragile glass model; if you let it go, it will shatter…into millions of small unrecognizable shards. His life is one of heartbreak and anger, one of love and betrayal, and one of mystery and intrigue. It is hard to say that this Phantom has such a cold sanity to him, something that will dance from his grip, may he be led astray. That thread that Erik teeters on, between sanity and insanity, is so thin it is bound to break. Sooner or later - is the question that weighs down those who stand by his side. Many have fallen to his rage, many have risen to claim his heart, many have broken along with the heart they held, but someone is bound to him; someone that he doesn’t even know yet. This someone will be his light in the darkness. So let it be known, there will no longer be, silence in the darkness, for that silence is too sinister to stay for much longer than it has. It’s time to break the ice and watch the silence shatter as a new melody joins the chorus.



Anger was what I felt every day. Anger, pain, sadness; I felt nothing else. Most days I couldn’t compose myself, I just felt like I wanted to scream at the empty stone wall and then fall to my knees and weep, just wanted to lay my head down on her shoulder and let her comfort me, tell me that it was all a dream and that she was really here, that she hadn’t died.
It had been nearly a month since that horrid day, but to me it felt like only hours ago. The pain was still there as though it had happened about an hour earlier. I swallowed the lump the size of a baseball in my throat and stared out into the calm waters. The scene flashed before my eyes again, the echoing gunshot ringing in my ear. I had been trying to get the gun away from Meg, but if I hadn’t been there perhaps Christine would still be alive. If I hadn’t lured her family into my opera house, then she would still be living a happy life in Paris, France with her husband, Raoul, and her –no our- son Gustav.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the damp air, a small tear rolling down my cheek. I missed Christine. There was no simpler way to put it. I had waited ten years to hear her beautiful voice again, and then it was stolen from me again, but this time I would never see her again, and it hurt. I whispered, tears beginning to run, “This music of the night has passed, its sweet embrace running from me. Its lullaby has died with you…”
I wished I had been nicer to her and to Gustav, who refused to accept who I was. He barely came around and when he did he always kept his distance, as though afraid that I would harm him. As though he blamed me, like I blamed myself, for his mother’s death. I was used to it, this lonely, almost betrayed feeling. I had lived my whole childhood with no one. Not even my own mother could bear to look upon me without screaming about how ugly I was.
Christine had been the only person who had been able to look past my cursed face. Was that the only reason you loved her? A mocking voice in my head asked me. I shook my head and to make myself feel better I spoke aloud, “No I loved her because she is kind, beautiful, and lovely and….that she could love me for whom I was, and she had, with all her heart, until the end.” Words like those hurt like a bullet to the heart.
With a shuddering sigh, I kicked a small stone into the calm waters and watched it sink like my life. I drew in another breath and let it out with a shiver as the cold wind brushed across my skin. I didn’t care if I caught cold, I didn’t care what became of me anymore. A soft sigh came from my mouth and floated away in the breeze, having no cares, just being free. I wished I could be like that breath of air on the wind. Careless, fearless, thoughtless; it knew nothing of anything, not even of its own existence.
“Erik,” a voice brought my head slowly turning to the right. An elder woman stood, with her green eyes soft with sympathy. Her deep brown hair, streaked with grey, was pulled back into a bun. She came closer and stood beside me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I am sorry.” Sympathy laced into her melancholy words.
I turned away, shrugging her hand off, “I don’t need your sympathy.” My voice was a cold snap, yet a deep sadness entered it as I hung my head, pushing my hands against the metal bar separating me from the calm ocean waters. I grasped the bar with such force that my knuckles turned ghost white. I felt my eyes well with tears and I closed them, forcing myself to swallow the rising lump in my throat. I would not cry, not now.
“Erik,” she said again, with more sympathy in her soft voice. She came toward me once more and I whipped toward her, my voice like the crack of a whip,
“Damn it Giry!” I spat, “I said I don’t need your sympathy!” I almost felt bad that I had snapped at her, she was just trying to help, but there was nothing that could help me now. I was being forced to continue to live a life that I no longer wanted to live. I was forced to continue holding on for those who needed me. I was forced to keep living for Gustav. I wouldn’t leave him, no matter how much my heart ached.
Her sigh was sad, “Erik, please, don’t turn away from me, from us.” She placed her hand once more upon my shoulder, this time I let her. Her gentle voice flowed through the air, “Erik, don’t do this to yourself. I know that you loved her, all of us did. Meg feels horrible; she wants you to forgive her-”
I growled, “Giry, I can never forgive her.”
Another sigh, and then, “I miss Christine too, Erik. She was a daughter to me, and a sister to Meg. You have a responsibility, your son needs you! Are you just going to leave him in the dark? You can’t just let him go like that, and I can’t stand by and watch you slowly kill yourself.”
“Then don’t watch,” I snarled, turning away, letting her hand fall to her side. She looked like she’d been smacked. I instantly felt horrible, but didn’t know how to take those cruel words back. I opened my mouth to say something but she waved a hand and I shut my mouth, avoiding her gaze, afraid the gaze upon the hurt that glistened there.
Madame Giry avoided my eyes and turned, leaning, against the bar, which my hands still clenched. “I thought I knew you, Erik…but now I don’t think I do…I won’t let you give your life up to your depression. Somehow, someway I will bring you back to yourself.”
I swallowed my anger with the lump in my throat. A stray tear rolled down my cheek. “How can I forgive someone else if I can’t even forgive myself?” I asked, looking up, more tears sliding down my stained cheeks. The dark bags under my eyes showed how little sleep I had gotten. “How can my heart just keep breaking when it’s already broken? How can I care for a son who loathes me? How can I live when that will to keep pushing on has dissolved into nothing?”
Madame Giry had tears in her eyes when she answered, “Christine’s death was not your fault, and don’t you ever blame yourself. You did the right thing by trying to get the gun away from Meg, if you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened, you couldn’t have known she’d push the trigger.
“Then rebuild your heart. It is not broken forever, you have a son and friends that love and care for you. I won’t give up on you, not until my dying breath. Gustav does not hate you. He just doesn’t know how to act. He may not see you as a father figure yet, but in time he will, I can promise you.
“You have reasons to live, Erik! For me! For Meg and Gustav! For Christine! Keep living for Christine if nothing else!” Tears slid from her eyes, “Please don’t give up yet. Just keep living this life, you just can’t quit because something bad happened! You’ve been through things like this before, please don’t let yourself fall farther into this depression that I see in your eyes.”
I stared into her eyes and said sharply, “You don’t understand do you?” I didn’t give her a chance to reply, “I should have been the one who died. I should have been the one who Meg shot, it was my fault. If I had listened to her Christine would still be alive. No one will get the blame other than me.” I closed my eyes and shook my head mournfully, “Giry, I can’t do this much longer. All the time,” I choked, “I think of her smiling face. That scene plays before my eyes, the shot ringing in my ears. I am wishing that in all those replays that it will me who falls at the shattering shot, but it is always Christine. Where I should have been, it’s Christine dying in my arms, as I hold her tightly against me.
“I used to think that there was a way I could change those events, but now I know there is no way to rewrite the past. I used to think, hope, that this was just some horrifying nightmare that I will wake up from,” I shook my head, “but I have long since stopped believing in that lie. I would tell myself that when I woke up Christine would be with me, but now I know I only did that to comfort myself. I’d wake to the lonely darkness and feel the pain of my heart shattering time after time.” My silent tears were now pouring down my face, and my shoulders were shaking, I tried to be strong and suck it up, but I was unable. “There is no way to fix my heart; it’s broken into too many pieces.” I laid my face in my hands and wept. I knew I looked childish, but I didn’t care anymore.
Giry put an arm around my shoulders; I let her, although my body tensed slightly. “Come back to Phantasma with me.” She didn’t seem to notice –or care for that matter- when I shook my head, not wanting my staff to see me cry. She took my arm and drew me away from the metal bar, my knuckles, sore and aching, regaining their usual pale skin color. She made me stand straighter, as she led me back to the opera house she and Meg had helped me create. Perhaps there was a way to let go, and perhaps I was willing to find it. But who would bear with me, the Phantom of the Opera? What happens if I fall before they do? Or what if they fall before me…?

Alright so do you guys want me to post the rest of it?

Stranger Then You Dreamt It!
can you even bare to look or bare to think of me?

The Phantom Of The Opera
is there, inside my head!

The Music Of The Night
savor each sensation!

Past The Point Of No Return!
no backward glances...
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