Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. . .seriously. Author's Note: What's this? An update? It's about time! Seriously, I must really like you guys or something like that because it's 11:30 and I haven't seen my room since 9 AM when I left to take a placement exam in calc, so, well, you get the point. A new POV is being introduced for the first and last time in this chapter, you'll see why. Anyway, much love and many thanks to all those who have reviewed (keep up the good work!) and enjoy! *Jean-Claude's POV* I hated those cellars with an intense dread that words fail to fully encompass. Still, as I stumbled drunkenly through the perpetual darkness of the labyrinths, I felt the thrilling promise of danger in the air, fresh adrenaline releasing throughout me as I succumbed to my darker urges. The Vicomte's money had brought me to this horrid place, but my own vices are what made me stay. My associates seemed as if still in shock, as was I, to some extent; we had left the man dead, lifeless and still upon the rich oriental carpets of his study, and yet he lived. I had, of course, heard the rumors of the Opera Ghost, the myth of the Phantom, but I brushed them off as little more than the latest idol banter of the upper classes. Now, I saw the fiend as what he was - a phoenix, continuously rising from the ashes. I, understood, however, why someone would want to live as he did, in the shadows, alone and forsaken by the world. The world is a terrible place, it spits you out and passes you by without second thought; it wastes some of the finest lives to make some of the most worthless that much easier. I almost commiserated with this Phantom, and his plight. After all, in many ways, it was my own. Of course, in my line of work, sympathy is a dangerous thing. I have laid my humanity upon the altar of greed, I have sold my soul to feed my temptations. I must never forget that, not even for a moment, or I will wake up one day and see the blood on my hands. My thoughts snapped back into focus as I tripped slightly over some unseen crack in the ground beneath me. We were drawing near to our goal; I could feel it, I could smell the listless waters of the underground lake. Soon, the imposing shadow of the Phantom's home became dominant in the faint light of our torches. This time, no lights glowed in the windows, no noises came from inside. We approached the door silently, and opened it cautiously. After a moment's hesitation, and a deep breath, I walked in. No one was there; no girl and no phantom. "What should we do, Jean-Claude?" Robert's voice echoed around me, and I closed my eyes as I thought intently over my response. Suddenly, an idea dawned on me, and I turned to him. "We'll force them out of the cellars. Burn the house," I said approaching him, and bidding him to obey. "Are you certain. . ." Pierre asked, and I held up a hand to silence him. "Burn it," I repeated succinctly, and he nodded. Pierre and Laurent threw their torches into the richly appointed home, and the flames quickly began to consume it in a terrific display. Orange fire purified the blackness of night. "When they return," I said, as we backed out of the burning building and began our assent, "they shall find naught but destruction, and they shall have nowhere to turn but the outside world, where we shall be waiting for them." Waiting, indeed. Waiting to further the darkness of the world in the name of the light. Sometimes, I loathe my job. *Christine's POV* "Erik?," I asked quietly as the carriage he had commissioned jostled through the city, "Where are we going?" "For the last time," he said, laughing and turning to me slowly, "it's a surprise." I smiled with a sigh, and leaned back against the leather seat. I pulled the curtain aside, and I looked up at the sky; the stars playing out tragedies and triumphs in blazes of brilliant fire against night's black velvet richness. It seemed perfection itself, this simple carriage ride with Erik. Again, he was teaching me; this time, about life, about how the simple things are often the most fulfilling. "We've almost arrived," he said with a slight tone of indulgence. I looked at him, and he stared back lovingly. I realized that he had mistaken my stargazing for anticipation, which, I guess, in some way, it was. "I see." I said, turning back to the window, "Erik, have you ever just looked at the stars?" "Not really," he sighed absently, "I have never really been one for communing with nature, my dear." "Well," I said, looking at him, and pulling him closer, "you should." He embraced me silently, and resting his head on top of mine, he joined me in watching nature's fiery displays in the heavens. "Beautiful, aren't they," I said, slightly triumphantly. "Not so much as you," he replied dreamily, pulling me closer; it was just then that the carriage jostled to a halt. "It would seem that we've arrived," he said, moving towards the door, and opening it for me. I got out slowly, nervously, and looked up in awe. To be continued. . . |
| Light in the Darkness |