(no subject)
Fandom: Phantom of the Opera
Rating: G
Word Count: Approx 470
Note 1: Written in under 10 minutes. Edited in 5.
Note 2: Written for 15minuteficlets word #140 (Overwhelmed)
He knew, though he was loath to admit it, that underneath the shiny masks and glittering costumes he was nothing more than a lost little boy in the darkness. Erik called himself the Opera Ghost, and he enjoyed the whispers of excitement and fear that drifted around the Opera Populaire whenever he was mentioned. But it was just another false face, really. This persona of allure and beauty hid beneath it a man who barely a man, who would be feared and hated just because of the way he looked, who longed for companionship every moment of his day.
It was overwhelming to know this, to realize that he was almost completely alone in the world. There was one woman who had shown him kindness, Madame Giry, with whom he rarely ever was able to speak with these days. Both of them were busy in their own realms. Erik needed to finish his opera, which he called Don Juan. Giry was focused on her own matters, she being in charge of the ballerinas and the dancing girls and her daughter. And a young woman named Christine Daae.
Erik was drawn to this girl. He'd watched her ever since she'd arrived on the doorsteps of the opera, years earlier. He would listen to her cry, night after night for a father who was forever lost to her. He would see her dance with friends during the day, full of something wild and childlike and sorrowful and beautiful. He felt a kinship to her for this reason; it was because she could understand the pain, the utter sadness of being alone in the dark and cold world.
When he sang to her for the first time, he didn't expect her to hear. It had been in the chapel, when most of the world had been deep in sleep. Most people, for one reason or another, would not hear his words or his melody even though he sang loudly in the dark. She alone had heard his music; she alone had attempted to speak to him. It made his heart soar; finally there was someone else in his life. Someone new, someone who might love him like no other. Christine seemed to trust him, to believe in him in ways no one ever had.
Still, when he was alone in his lair the desperation took hold of him. The overwhelming darkness, the loneliness, the night, it was unstoppable. It pressed upon his spirit heavily. To alleviate the dark, he would draw to Christine, so young and so beautiful. Or he would sing of Christine, and of hope and of love. The darkness always lurked around him. But with her in his mind, there was a kind of relief from it all, even if it was a small kind of relief.
It was on a night like, while he was lost in thoughts of the girl, this that he realized he loved her. She was nothing more than a child, barely seventeen years old. He could have been her father. But he still loved her. He always loved her. He always would.
Rating: G
Word Count: Approx 470
Note 1: Written in under 10 minutes. Edited in 5.
Note 2: Written for 15minuteficlets word #140 (Overwhelmed)
He knew, though he was loath to admit it, that underneath the shiny masks and glittering costumes he was nothing more than a lost little boy in the darkness. Erik called himself the Opera Ghost, and he enjoyed the whispers of excitement and fear that drifted around the Opera Populaire whenever he was mentioned. But it was just another false face, really. This persona of allure and beauty hid beneath it a man who barely a man, who would be feared and hated just because of the way he looked, who longed for companionship every moment of his day.
It was overwhelming to know this, to realize that he was almost completely alone in the world. There was one woman who had shown him kindness, Madame Giry, with whom he rarely ever was able to speak with these days. Both of them were busy in their own realms. Erik needed to finish his opera, which he called Don Juan. Giry was focused on her own matters, she being in charge of the ballerinas and the dancing girls and her daughter. And a young woman named Christine Daae.
Erik was drawn to this girl. He'd watched her ever since she'd arrived on the doorsteps of the opera, years earlier. He would listen to her cry, night after night for a father who was forever lost to her. He would see her dance with friends during the day, full of something wild and childlike and sorrowful and beautiful. He felt a kinship to her for this reason; it was because she could understand the pain, the utter sadness of being alone in the dark and cold world.
When he sang to her for the first time, he didn't expect her to hear. It had been in the chapel, when most of the world had been deep in sleep. Most people, for one reason or another, would not hear his words or his melody even though he sang loudly in the dark. She alone had heard his music; she alone had attempted to speak to him. It made his heart soar; finally there was someone else in his life. Someone new, someone who might love him like no other. Christine seemed to trust him, to believe in him in ways no one ever had.
Still, when he was alone in his lair the desperation took hold of him. The overwhelming darkness, the loneliness, the night, it was unstoppable. It pressed upon his spirit heavily. To alleviate the dark, he would draw to Christine, so young and so beautiful. Or he would sing of Christine, and of hope and of love. The darkness always lurked around him. But with her in his mind, there was a kind of relief from it all, even if it was a small kind of relief.
It was on a night like, while he was lost in thoughts of the girl, this that he realized he loved her. She was nothing more than a child, barely seventeen years old. He could have been her father. But he still loved her. He always loved her. He always would.