#Erik in Persia

[vixenmaggie]

"Looks like you stole something from me, ma belle."

I'd like to steal your virgi- hm...heart, yes.

[flea-palace]

old man yaoi

[jellyluchi]

Pictured: Erik and Rose Sultana circa 1880

I finished my painting and thought since I’ve seen some other artist post their poto ocs then I might as well…

[garnet-xx-rose]

One of the hcs I’ve had since I was a teen was that Ramin’s Phantom is Nadir’s nephew or young cousin. He’s meant to be Erik’s guardian but Erik was fucking shit up in Persia, then goes MIA out of nowhere and came to France.

So, in the case of Poto 25, not too long after the final lair Nadir finally tracks Erik down and he’s like “I messed up Uncle, this one’s a doozy”.

[noblehcart]

❝ do not forget my name. ❞ ( for Rook <3 )

@delanuit

"how could anyone ever forget?" she had never liked goodbyes. the day her sister laleh left the family home on the day of her marriage she wept bitterly. just as she wept in the privacy of her quarters when nadir was sent away on request of the shah for whatever means. no one's fate was secure nor life was promised. sometimes people left their home and never returned.

but her home was altered now. erik had somehow weaved a magic over her home. he cast magic in her and her son's life for what was left of it. but when both reza and erik left, one by death and the other by volition. it was as if the mourning colors had penetrated the walls. her home was still hers, but was slowly emptying bit by bit. this morning she was more than grateful to have escaped it to come to ashraf even as the goodbye clawed at the heart in her chest terribly so. a soft sad smile sat on her lips as she looked to her husband then to erik.

persia was no place for him any longer. somehow she never did believe that he'd stay with them forever, but somehow the day came far too soon and far too late.

"it has been an honor to have you as a guest in our home. and a far greater blessing to have you counted as a friend." dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she struggled to reign in her emotion. "do not forget my name either; though, i know you'll continue to meet so many in your travels. try to keep what good memories you might have had here close to your heart, erik. may it never narrow."

[mortevivante]

‘  you  do  this ,  you  do .  you  take  the  things  you  love  and  you  tear  them  apart .  ’ @endl0ss

you have often been told that you hold a deep love for beautiful things. beyond that, you know that you have always loved destroying them. it is a product of your grief / resentment / beautiful things have denied you and shunned you and labeled you a monster. beautiful things taunt you with all that you cannot have (and all that has turned to dust in your hands when you have tried to hold on! you think of dark hair and a crimson halo and her parted lips / her eyes were green like springtime / she looks beautiful in death and she has loved you and ruined you.) in your loneliness, you have learned that destruction can be equally as beautiful- 

is that not why you are praised by the shah-en-shah? the khanum smiles upon you often (she is much like you / lover of death and destruction and beautiful things) because this is what you do. you take the things you love and you tear them apart. 

so you are not surprised to hear such a statement from another, although you were certain that mere moments ago you were alone in the luxurious room that you had been granted (you turned away the khanum's gifts / this night you wish for solitude)- most jarring, you do not recognize your comapny. you are not the type to forget faces (faces, you've fixated on faces for as long as you can remember / shards of glass in your hands is a familiar feeling / you cannot escape your own face; you curse God that you no longer believe in for not finishing His work) and they know better than to send someone at night. they know you expect death (you know they whisper of tearing your eyes out / you will never build such lovely death for another!)

❝ you speak as if you know the angel of death- but erik does not know you. ❞ this makes you uneasy- you do not like not knowing. you do not wish to speak further of your habits / sins / before you are armed with the knowledge you need. you are not yet ready to die. the lasso is a comfort in your hands as you watch the other / you have a strange feeling that you may not be fully awake (but you do not remember if you allowed yourself to relax with the morphine in your veins). ❝ you come here with no great fanfare- are you here to take my eyes? ❞      

[aresidentghost]

Erik #art #artist #artistsoninstagram #artwork #artofinstagram #artistsofinstagram #instaartist #pencildrawing #pencilart #pencil #persia #erik #erikpersia #erikphantomoftheopera #thephantomoftheopera #lefantômedelopéra (at Amery, Wisconsin) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnaNeKzuaDn/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[pignk]

Can we talk about ‘The Siren of The Opera’?

Plus, a doodle sketch of Erik and Daroga when they’re both in Persia…i think🥺because i luv my ghostly magician Erik

[thedrawingduke]

Where does Eric get his furniture and clothes from? He's such a giant man I can't imagine he could find them in stores.

Ah, yes…TC/Erik has become an accomplished DIY-er out of necessity. Most of his furniture is salvaged and then reinforced to accommodate his size. Mostly a couple chairs and a small couch—he never bothered to make a bed frame and keeps his mattress on the floor.

As far as clothes go, he makes a lot of the basics himself (undergarments, shirts, etc). If/when he has any extra money he will commission someone to make things for him (mostly boots/shoes) and will explain away the large size by saying it’s for "advertising/display purposes". He has some things left over from his time in Persia (where he was often gifted things in his size).

I’ll put some of my little sketches of his room below (idk why I hoard this stuff). He has a portion of that space devoted to sewing/mending.

[madreemeritus]

Did you know that Lon Chaney's Erik is 32 years old?

Yes. This goofy ass man is 32 years old.

So, the silent movie gives a few and undetailed comment about Erik's life before he became the Opera Ghost. A script cheating? Maybe, but it's a 1925 movie with 1 hour and 50 minutes so we excuse that.

Erik was born during the Boulevard Massacre, an event that happened on 23/2/1848, Paris. The main story takes place in 1881 as the original novel, so yeah, Erik is 32 years old and his birthday is 23th February. THIS SILLY MOTHERFUCKER IS ONLY 32 YEARS OLD.

I think 1925 Erik's backstory could be such an interesting thing to explore. He doesn't seem to have traveled to Persia and was born in Paris instead of Rouen, was accused of witchcraft and exiled on an Island by reasons not fully explained... i wonder what could be explored about him. Will i write a fanfiction about his past and a sequel to the 1925 movie?... HELL, YES.

[unamazing-sheep21]

The Daroga is actually an extremely important character to the themes of Phantom of the Opera

Many people might not know this but living as a Muslim/brown person in the west ( especially France… see: burqab ban, burkini ban, hijab ban, etc) is extremely difficult for some. Not to mention in a world post 9/11. Not to mention ( probably) in the 1890’s like in Phantom of the Opera where orientalist art and inaccurate and often dehumanising portrayals of the Middle East and it’s people ( muslims, arabs, Persians etc) were common and were used to justify colonialism.

In classic literature there’s only like, ONE character who is brown and is treated like an actual human being by the narrative and is presented as a central cast member to boot: and that’s the Daroga/ The Persian in Phantom of the Opera. And even then, every adaptation after either replaces him with a white person or has an incredibly disingenuous and inaccurate portrayal of him and his ethnicity/religion. Heck, in the Phantom Susan Kay book he’s given the surname “Khan” which isn’t even Persian it’s a PAKISTANI name.

Every other presumably brown/POC character are written animalistically and antagonistically. E.g Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights and Bertha from Jane Eyre. Bertha especially who is just used as an obstical/metaphor instead of an actual genuine character who deserves her own nuance and voice.

Now, back to the tittle, why do I think The Persian’s mere existence and especially with him being Persian/Muslim is inexplicably tied to the themes of POTO? Because he’s just like Erik and completely unlike Erik at the same time. In the book he’s constantly described as wearing as astrakhan cap/ a fez. Something quintessentially Middle Eastern and exposes him as ethnic right away to the eyes of the then European public. Both Erik and The Persian have sides of them that the society they live in at large shuns/dehumanises/condemns. For Erik it’s his face, and for The Persian it’s his culture/ religion/ race. But unlike Erik, The Persian has the choice to “ take it off” or assimilate more into society. He can, and it was better for him if he wore, a top hat but he CHOOSES to wear a fez. And he never takes it off. While he CAN and he has the chance to be more accepted in society than he already is.

But Erik can’t “take it off”, he can’t take off his face.

Though we don’t know much about the Persians’ beliefs, it’s safe to assume he was probably Muslim since Persia has been a Muslim country for a long time ( ignore the one we have now lmao). And I like to think that even in France he doesn’t give up this one part of him. He could just convert to whatever the majority religion in France was at the time and he would be more assimilated into French society, but he doesn’t . He actively chooses to keep parts of who he is even though they put him at a disadvantage. In contrast, Erik would give anything and does try everything ( even to phycotic lengths ) to be considered “ Normal” in society.

And throughout all of Erik’s efforts the only one who was ever really there for him was The Persian. But Erik dismisses him constantly.

I like to think that The Persian stayed because he understands Erik to a certain degree, and I like to think that Erik resents him because he doesn’t use every chance he gets to assimilate into society. To be considered normal. Sometimes Erik quite literally would kill for. Instead hanging onto every part that makes him who he is even when it only isolates him further.

[vixenmaggie]

"Don't open your eyes. Just dance, darling. Just dance, please..."

[dross-the-fish]

Phantom Ramble

I think one of the reasons I'm personally so resistant to viewing Erik and Christine's relationship as a romantic one is due to the fact that for most of the book I don't fully trust Erik as a character and I can't imagine Christine does either. Erik has a pattern of creating himself, whether it's the phantom of the opera, the angel of music, or even "Erik" we never really find out who he is. He says he wants to be loved for himself but he never is himself. He keeps himself hidden out of fear of rejection. Not just on a physical level but on an emotional one as well.

The name he gives Christine "Erik" is a name he came upon "By accident" and I've seen some people mention that in earlier versions of the story, like the original newspaper in which it was serialized, Christine stated that Erik picked that name because it's Scandinavian and he was hoping to use it to get closer to her, which is definitely a thing he would do and if not for the fact that the Daroga also knew him as Erik in Persia I would agree that's the most likely explanation.

I've always felt strongly that Erik cannot be taken at his word. He strikes me as the type to say anything he has to say to get what he wants and he has grown so accustomed to wearing masks that he is unable to take them off. Even when he's physically unmasked he still can't bring himself to reveal who he really is. Perhaps because he doesn't really know anymore, he has become his masks. His deformity made it necessary to hide from the world and every angel, phantom, friend, teacher or father figure he became feels like had to be meticulously created so he could slip on the role and play the part convincingly enough to fool those around him. This includes Christine. I think he was hoping that Christine would be the one who could see past the performances and I don't think she's able to for the majority of the book. Even when she's fascinated by him or feels pity she never comes across as someone who really KNOWS him. That's not her fault he has, intentionally and unintentionally, made himself unknowable.

Even the Daroga doesn't really know Erik, he has more insight than most people but Erik is as much a mystery to him as to anyone else.

Erik's world is the theater and he is a perpetual actor in his own narrative. It's instinct for him to simply become whatever he needs to be to frighten people away or draw them closer and I don't think he knows how to stop doing that anymore. He's so distant from himself that views his real self as dead, the real him is nothing but a corpse.

I think that's also what makes the ending, the final unmasking so poignant to me because that's the moment when Erik, the living person, not the character, is seen for the first time. It's the mask coming off for real at last.

"I tore off my mask so as not to lose one of her tears… and she did not run away!…and she did not die!… She remained alive, weeping over me, weeping with me. We cried together! I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer"

What Christine offers him in this moment isn't what I interpret as romantic love it's acceptance, it's compassion, it's seeing him and understanding him. She gives him this when he least deserves it and I feel like this is what makes Erik's redemption meaningful. That his humanity is acknowledge in his darkest moment by the person he's hurt the most. That he is shown that much grace and kindness and that he lets her go without getting the romantic fulfillment he was trying to coerce from her will always be infinitely more touching to me than seeing them in a successful romantic relationship.

I think I also just get tired of seeing romantic love touted as some be-all-end-all redemptive healing force and the thing that could "fix" this character and give him a happy ending.

Again, not saying people can't or shouldn't write their fluffy comfortable or their dark twisted Eristine fics, by all means, have fun and enjoy what you do, but I feel like there's very little appreciation for the redemptive arc in the book that isn't viewed through a romantic lens.

[persnicketypomelo]

Could you please write Erik x Siren or Mermaid headcannon

I think it would be an interesting dynamic =)

This kinda sucked but hopefully it's tolerable still :/

potentially major spoilers for book, kidnap, mentioned death, obsession

Erik with a Siren/Mermaid Reader

Let's say that you're the siren that Leroux described at the bottom of the underground lake

Erik has always been scarce on companionship his whole life, such that he would seek solace from animals, plants anything not disturbed by his face enough to stay around

You, for your part, did your best to keep hidden from the sight of humans as best you could

They only ever brought trouble, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake

You knew from the awful joy and ugly laughter when hunting, from the terrible waste they dumped in your waterways

As such, you refused to associate with such vile creatures, and the fish were your only company

You're not sure how you were born, nor if there were ever any others like you, but for all you knew, you were alone in this world

And so was the young man that had made the habit of sitting by the lakeside each morning

Normally you made it a rule not to interact with humans ever, as you didn't care to end up on the other side of their spear, guns, or whatever other horrible contraptions they used

You had grown so accustomed to the solitude that you forgot to even be lonely

But, there was some comfort in even just coexisting in the presence of another, just listening to his absent tunes or silence

It was that very feeling that let you get carried away, however, as the startled gasp of your masked companion was warning enough to send you scattering for the safety of the depths

After regaining his composure, he does his best to placate your fear, urging you back

And maybe, just maybe, he wasn't like his kind--absent of the savagery, the cruelty

There is something magnetic in shared misery, and between your loneliness and his melancholy the pair of you fit that trope perfectly

You learned that he had finished some commission in Persia and was now in search of a more permanent and stable life

Your friend was an architect, among other pastimes it seemed, and despite not understanding the concept of an 'opera house' you could picture the vision with his florid descriptions and lavish ideas

To travel the world like he has, it was an idea that held some appeal to you, confined to your aquatic prison, and you must have mentioned so in passing to your masked companion

Now, in his vision of a grand opera house blended with isolated dwelling, he seems to have envisioned that you were there as well

But the idea of being trapped as a visual oddity or entertainment for guests pervade your mind

No matter how genteel or well-intentioned your friend might seem, you can not shake the fear that underneath his kind exterior, he might be just as much of a monster

Erik, however, did not seem to take the rejection as well as you had hoped, falling sullen and betrayed as though your rejection was a personal insult

After that day he stopped his visits, and your sadness at the lost of a friend equalled your fear that he might retaliate and decide to capture you and sell you at a high price

As it turns out, that is exactly the twisted decision he made--to kidnap you--that is

You awoke in a tank--more akin to a glorified tub, the turbulence of the carriage rocking you awake

All at once, your fears of humans settled in your bones, all too late

No matter how interesting, how kind they might seem, they all share a primal greed to covet or profit off of whatever they can

And with your fish tail, it seems you were just that an object to be sequestered, no matter how sincere your captor's promises of taking care of you, of protecting you from human scorn

How could he truly wish for what's best for you whilst also depositing you in a shallow basin outside his home, with no chance at ever greeting the sun again?

Only now, captive like a trophy prize in some twisted collection, did you realize whatever embarrassment he hid behind his mask, it could not compare to what monster lay at his heart

I'm picturing she ends up killing Philippe due to her own mental decline and the zoochosis (for lack of a more succinct word) from being confined in the lake

[angel-with-paper-wings]

The Siren’s Song

A super quick one-shot I threw together after being inspired by this amazing art done by @nipuni

This takes place while Erik the siren/merman is in Persia and working for the Shah, and Nadir is charged with making sure he is cared for and ready to suit the Shah’s whims. I hope you all enjoy and thanks again to nipuni for the incredible art and idea!

Rating/Warnings: rated T, tiny amount of gore, references to murder

The sun dipped just below the west horizon, painting the Mazenderan sky a bright blood-red. From the window of the great Persian palace overlooking the Caspian Sea, the sunset’s glowing splendor made for a breathtaking view. A single figure stood at the window; Nadir watched the light disappear below the horizon with a heavy sigh. With the end of the day came one of Nadir’s most important duties, one that he either found mildly enjoyable or extremely unpleasant. The probability of either outcome was as unpredictable as the waves in the sea below him. 

Nadir tipped the last of his cup of tea into his mouth, letting the flavors cradle his tongue for a moment before turning away from the window. He then walked through the halls of the fine palace towards the kitchen. The Shah had spared no expense in the construction of the lavish building, which served as His Majesty’s personal home in the region of Mazenderan. Nadir Khan held authority of the property when the Shah was not present, and as such was in charge of the strange rituals that occurred within the building. Or, more accurately, below it.

In the kitchen, Nadir prepared two small baskets of sustenance, then took them and proceeded to the entrance to the palace’s cellars. Down the dark stone steps he treaded, so accustomed to the path by now that he could walk it without the aid of a lantern. He arrived outside a large wooden door with a ruby-encrusted doorknob. Willing his heart to stop beating so fast, he turned the doorknob and opened the door.

Inside was an enormous room, with dark stone walls lit intermittently with torches. The floor of the room was almost entirely missing, replaced instead with a great pool of black water. The surface of the liquid was eerily still and presented no indication of how deep it was. The stillness, coupled with the obtrusive feeling of unknown, gave any who entered it a chill along their spine.

Nadir felt the feeling wash over him again, but let it pass with a practiced air of calm. He stepped forward from the doorway onto the stone platform that formed the edge of the pool. The platform extended forward about three meters, before stopping at the water’s edge. However, a thin stone catwalk, wide enough for a single person to stand on at a time, extended out along the surface of the water, stopping in the center of the great pool. Simply standing on the platform near the door was terrifying enough, but many enemies of the Shah had found themselves being urged out onto the slippery catwalk to meet a ghastly fate. No one in their right mind would step foot on that catwalk, even if they were unaware of what lay beneath the water’s surface; even now, Nadir felt his primal defenses tensing and urging him not to step forward. But he had done this many times before.

He closed the wooden door and let the loud slam echo off of the stone walls. He then stepped forward across the platform with purposefully heavy footsteps: one, two, three, four, five. With a deep breath, Nadir then stepped forward onto the catwalk. He kept his movements slow and scanned the water carefully with his jade-green eyes.

Once he was almost at the edge of the walkway, he became aware of a strange sound surrounding him. It was so faint he did not notice it at first, but by each passing second it grew into a low droning note, half-breath and half-music. It seemed to rise from the water itself, the surface of which remained smooth and black as ink. The soft humming wove itself into Nadir’s mind, pulling him closer and closer, but he fought to keep his legs steady on the platform and his eyes fixed on the water. His voice called out into the chill air of the room, breaking through the humming with a single word.

“Erik?”

At once the humming stopped. Nadir looked around for any sign of movement below the murky water.

“You’re late,” a voice called from behind Nadir. The Persian man jumped and almost slipped on the stone catwalk, hissing out a curse. He turned around to see the figure of a man—well, a man’s head and torso—sitting atop the edge of the stone platform. Where his hips would have begun, the pale skin faded into black scales: the beginning of a long black tail that at the moment remained hidden beneath the surface of the dark water. The top half of the siren’s face was covered by a sculpted white mask, and the bottom half was curled up in an unsettling grin, his yellow eyes unblinkingly fixed on Nadir.

“I had to finish my tea,” Nadir muttered. “But I am not one to forget my duties.” He held up the pair of baskets in his hands.

The yellow eyes shifted to rest on the basket. Erik’s eerie grin widened, his thin lips pulling back to reveal two rows of razor-sharp fangs. Without warning the siren plunged himself into the water, barely leaving a ripple in his wake as he disappeared beneath the surface. The room became deathly quiet again, until Nadir saw a shimmering out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look down at the water next to him, and watched the spiny points of fins dragging along just under the surface. The whiplike tail then flipped out of the water, sprinkling Nadir with a spray of droplets. The man grumbled and wiped his face bitterly.

He whipped his head around to the other side and saw the siren’s head poking out of the water a few feet off of the catwalk, the sly grin frozen in place. Nadir knelt down on the stone walkway and said, “You make this quite difficult. Although I’m sure that is the intention.”

Erik scoffed. “You offend me, Daroga. It is always my intention to make guests feel comfortable when they visit my home.” He brought his bony elbows up to rest on the stone catwalk and craned his neck to see what Nadir was rummaging with in the basket. “What have you brought for me to break my fast with today, hmm?”

Nadir let out a huff as he extracted a large fish, freshly caught. He avoided meeting Erik’s eyes as the siren’s tongue poked out from between the thin lips, dragging across the dagger-like teeth. In the other basket, Nadir revealed his own meal: seasoned lamb kebab with rice and flatbread. At the sight of the “human” food, the siren turned up his nose. “You’ll spoil my appetite, Daroga,” he whined, inching himself further away.

Nadir gave Erik an amused glare while he sat and took a bite of the bread. The siren made a face of disgust before turning his attention to his own meal.

The strange pair began to eat together; at one point, Nadir looked up at the siren, but immediately wished he hadn’t. Erik’s mouth was rimmed with blood, and Nadir’s stomach turned as he watched the long tongue swipe hungrily over his fangs, wiping them clean of fish. “How is your new invention coming along?” Nadir asked, attempting to distract himself from the rather frightening image.

Erik’s yellow eyes sparked. “Perhaps you could tell me,” he said mischievously. At Nadir’s questioning look, he added, “I just tried it on you.”

Nadir frowned. “The humming?”

The siren nodded. Behind him, the fins of his long black tail splashed excitedly in the water. “I have found a frequency of sound that most humans find relaxing, even intoxicating. Amplifying this signal allows it to pass through water with relative ease, reaching their ears without them realizing the source…until it is too late.” The fang-filled grin flashed across his face again.

Nadir nodded in understanding. He wouldn’t lie, it made him a bit disappointed inside to know that Erik was capable of such ingenuity and artistry, only for it to be exploited in the name of causing torture and death. He sighed to himself.

“What about you, Daroga? How are things faring in the world above?” Erik asked as he set aside the bones of the fish and began picking at his fangs with one slender finger.

“Well, the Shah is having trouble finding a replacement vizier, one that he finds more trustworthy than the last.” Nadir couldn’t help his eyes from glancing over to where the scaly black tail shimmered and swished beneath the water. The last vizier, after his betrayal to the Shah was discovered, had found his death in this very room not a week prior, his neck snapped within the elastic force of that same strong tail. Nadir inhaled a deep breath to clear his thoughts. “As such, His Majesty has found himself under a lot of stress. He questions the loyalty of almost everyone around him. Because of this, I imagine you’ll be getting more…visitors soon.”

At Nadir’s last statement, Erik’s eyes darkened. “Visitors,” he spat the word with disdain. He pushed himself off of the stone catwalk and sunk lower into the water. He began to effortlessly swim in a circle before Nadir as he spoke impatiently. “There is no need for petty euphemisms, Daroga. I know what my role is to the Shah. I am his royal executioner; he sends me those he hates the most, the ones he wishes to see die the most agonizing deaths. And much like you, I am not one to forget the duties assigned to me.”

Nadir met the siren’s burning yellow gaze. “That is not the only role you fulfill, Erik,” he assured firmly. “You are an architect, the greatest Persia has ever seen. Your creations have brought wonder and beauty to many, not just terror and destruction. Trust me, you are valued much more than as a simple executioner.”

Erik’s tail lashed through the water, and he practically leapt forward until he was in front of Nadir. “Then why does the Shah keep me in a shallow tank and feed me like an exotic pet? Do not dare lie to me, Daroga, for I know my true worth in this country.” He slowly slid back into the water, turning his black-spined back to Nadir. His hand drifted up to touch the edge of the porcelain mask that hid half of his face. “I know my true worth…in this world.”

Nadir watched Erik with great pity within his noble and generous heart. After a quiet moment, he reached a hand into the inner pocket of his coat. “I believe you requested this a few days ago,” he said softly.

Erik turned his head around, and his eyes widened as he looked upon the object in Nadir’s hands. It was a large book, leather-bound with gold letters forming a title across the cover. He eagerly swam closer to find out what it said. “Italian Architecture of the 16th Century,” he read. His fingers reached up and snatched it from Nadir’s offering hands; he opened it up and began looking through it quickly, paying little attention to the small drops of water from his wet hands soaking through the pages. “Fascinating.”

Nadir smiled at his eagerness. “I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then. Enjoy your evening.” He have a small bow before standing and waking back along the catwalk to the stone platform.

Just as he reached for the door handle, he heard the voice behind him again say, “Daroga.” Nadir paused, before turning back around.

Erik slowly swam forward, cutting through the water like glass without leaving a single ripple. He reached the edge of the pool and pushed himself out with his wiry arms, resting the base of his tail on the stone platform. In the torchlight, Nadir could see the scars that slashed across his chest and shoulders, the way his ribs and joints protruded plainly from under his greyish pale skin. Despite the nocturnal darkness that rimmed his golden pupils, Erik’s eyes appeared soft as they focused on Nadir. “You have my thanks,” he whispered timidly.

A warmth erupted in Nadir’s chest as he took in Erik’s quiet words. With the corners of his lips turned up in a smile, Nadir gave Erik one final nod before opening the door and climbing back up to the world above.

[apileofpans]

On the Nature of Daylight - Chapter 1

Erik and Raoul had been human once, a long time ago. By all accounts Erik should be long dead at this point, yet still he walks the earth, though he is keen on avoiding the sun now. Raoul should have died back then from the gruesome attack, yet here he is, still alive and breathing. He has his monthly troubles, but not much else has changed. That doesn’t mean it did not take a lot for them both to adapt, but with time comes familiarity, and both have ample of that. How did Erik and Raoul turn immortal?

Vampire Erik and Nadir - canon divergence - developing relationship - prologue/origin story - Persia - tragic romance - human/vampire relationships

The Cordilleras, Sunrise - Frederic Church | Rider and his steed in the desert - Jean-Léon Gérôme