#and i ended up laying in the bath feeling like a mannequin for Forever. it was so great

[digitaldiseas3]

i’m so excited for my next opportunity to abuse substances

[duskastormgrove]

SSO February Prompt Day 14: Your Valentine

something different for this prompt, i decided to write and post something for the first time in 6 years!

this is a oneshot about my oc making a gift for ydris, i had intended for it to be able to be interpreted as platonic but uhhh that didn’t happen! anyway don’t razz me too hard im out of practice.

This was not nearly enough bee balm. Duska had thought her crafting larder well stocked but while she had flax coming out of her ears her supply of bee balm meant the dye would not nearly be purple enough. She had a full day of stutching, crimping and brushing the flax and spinning it into thread, there was no way she could spare the time to grab more. However, Duska was lucky enough to have very loyal (and very bored) friends, and her first instinct was to pull up her chat with Alex.

D: girl help

A: what you need bb

D: bee balm

D: as much as you can carry

A: can I ask what for?

D: valentine’s gift I’m making

A: :o

A: omw

True to her word, Alex was in Valedale and jogging to the workshop within the hour. In her arms was a bundle of bee balm and her fingers were faintly green from furiously yanking up the stems.

“You’re a lifesaver Alex,”Duska groaned in relief, immediately relieving her friend of her burden and starting to strip the blossoms from the stems.

“Least I could do considering you helped me ask Maya out last Christmas!” Alex hoisted herself up onto the only uncluttered workbench to watch Duska work. She was silent for all of thirty seconds before the prodding began, “sooooo, who’s the lucky person?”

Duska pointedly ignored her and threw the flowers into a boiling pot. She stirred and hummed in a satisfied way when the violet colour began to bleed into the water. She didn’t look up when Alex came to stand behind her and look into the pot as well. Eventually Duska banged the spoon on the side of the pot and dropped it onto the bench.

“You’re thinking too hard, I can see the smoke coming out of your ears,” she snapped, jabbing a finger at Alex’s forehead.

“It’s just- the colour looked familiar but like, I don’t want to assume or anything but uh… it’s circus bae, right?”

“Please. Never call him that again I feel part of me die when you do,” Duska moaned, rubbing her temples. “But yes, I’m making a new ringmaster’s jacket for Ydris. I felt bad I scorched his usual one.”

“When he was keeping Concorde prisoner and turned you into a 5 carat Lusitano?”

“You know it wasn’t out of malice, Alex. It’s hard to explain but when he talked about Pandoria under threat from Garnok he seemed so hopeless and scared. I really think he was desperate and taking desperate measures.”

Alex was quiet for a while and sat herself back on the workbench. Duska put the lid on the pot and waited until it started rattling before she turned the heat down to a simmer. Another hour or so and she could start straining the colour away from the flowers. In the meantime she could stutch more flax and get it ready to be spun on the wheel. She might even have time to make cloth on the loom today!

“Is this the part where you beat the shit out of the plants?” Alex asked, swinging her legs in excitement, “Can I help out? Please? I’ll beat it up so good I promise!” Duska sighed but laid the stems over the board and showed Alex how to beat the fibres out properly with the stutching stick. Soon the Lightning Circle Rider was happily smacking the flax and Duska could sit at the wheel and start spinning lengths of thread from the flax she’d stutched, crimped and brushed out earlier. The sounds of the wheel turning and the steady thumpthumpthump of Alex working away were almost soothing to Duska’s ears. Alex was a chatty type of friend, moreso than Lisa or Anne but there was no such thing as an uncomfortable silence with her, simply working in the same room was enough for her, especially if she thought she was being helpful.

“All finished!” Alex proclaimed as she ran the last of the coarse flax through the brush, “Can I do anything else Dus?”

“Nothing that I can think of,” Duska said regretfully, “thanks so much for today, I really appreciate it.”

“Eh, that’s what pals are for!” Alex said, slapping a hand on Duska’s shoulder and went to leave the workshop, “I’ll see you at the Galentine’s trail ride!” Duska waved fondly and rolled her shoulders before hunching back over the spinning wheel, just an hour or so more and she could move to the loom, another backbreaker.

“Oh and Duska?” Duska looked up from the wheel, to see Alex’s face, smiling but with a worried crease to her brow, “Be careful alright?”

 ---------------------

“Sorry I’m late Daxton, took forever to load these screens onto Clover’s back, nearly dropped them in the Hollow Woods too!” Duska hipchecked the door to Daxton’s shop open and sidled in sideways with the two enormous screens she had prepared in advance. Silk, for the inside of the jacket, had a fairly straightforward dyeing process that would lead to a nice pattern. For this one in particular she only needed two screens but she also needed dye baths and a silk dyeing setup she simply didn’t have. This is where Daxton came in. The anxious tailor had a delightful array of fancy tailor tools and was willing to help her in return for all the deliveries and favours she’d done for him in the last two years.

“Don’t worry, things are slow today,” Daxton reassured her as he grabbed the other side of the screens and helped Duska carry them to the back, “Give me a second I want to clean these up, go check those fabric samples on the desk and make sure they’re the colours you want.” Duska did as instructed, while Daxton polished the screens off with a cloth that reminded her of a cloth she used to scrub the dust off of her horses before a show.

“All good, these are exactly what I’m looking for,” Duska said, laying the fabric down and grabbing a roll of silk material to lay across the rack. She taped it flat and Daxton lay the screen over it, double-checking the placement before he grabbed the bottle of dye. The purple dye went on first and Daxton dragged a large squeegee across the screen to spread it evenly onto the silk. When he moved the screen to the next spot Duska could see the purple pattern, with white blank spaces waiting for the next dye.

“Oh fuck yeah this looks awesome Dax!” she exclaimed and the tailor shushed her.

“Please! I need to concentrate or something awful might happen!” Not willing to take a chance on whether or not this was Daxton’s paranoia at work or an actual possibility, Duska kept silent and simply hovered over his shoulder and watched until the fabric was covered in purple dye.

“Next screen,” Daxton said, wiping sweat from his forehead. Duska hurried to remove the old one and set up the new one. She felt strangely useless here, with Daxton in his element and blasting through silk like no one’s business. This time the gold dye was poured on, and it filled the blank spaces the first screen had left. By the time Daxton reached the end of the roll it was filled entirely with the repeating pattern and Duska was waiting anxiously with a glass of water.

“Aideen’s light, Dax! This is perfect!”

“Okay, we’ll wait until it dries and then you can take it home!” Daxton readjusted his thick glasses to admire his handiwork and gratefully took the glass, “What are you making with this anyway?”

“Oh it’s a Valentine’s day gift.”

The colour drained from Daxton’s face and the hand holding his water began to tremble.

“Jeepers, glad you didn’t tell me it was so important, I would’ve messed it up for sure!”

 -------------------------

It wasn’t unusual for Farah to find her chief apprentice clattering around in the workshop before dawn. Duska was a hard worker and liked to get the orders done and delivered early to free up the rest of her day. She was a busy woman from what Farah saw of her zooming around on various horses and doing chores for residents of Valedale. What was unusual, was the amount of swearing coming from down by the river.

“Everything okay here?” she asked cautiously. Duska looked up, several pins hanging from her mouth and fabric aggressively clutched in her hands.

“It’s fine. It’s… swell.”

“Not sure I believe that one,” Farah laughed, feeling it was safe to approach her apprentice, “Let me in there, I can help out, are we doing a jacket?” She might have felt bad for intruding but Duska’s immediate look of relief assuaged those worries.

“It’s the lapels, I’m stuggling with them, if you could fix them I could finally start the epaulettes?” Duska asked hopefully.

“No problem, it’s a beautiful jacket so far, I love the silk pattern!”

“Thanks, Daxton helped me out with it, it turned out exactly how I wanted,” Duska explained as she went around the back of the mannequin to start sewing the golden fringed epaulettes onto the shoulders, “This is the first time I’ve made a Valentine’s gift, I’m… admittedly a little stressed about it.” Farah raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a lot of effort for a Valentine’s gift.”

“Well, he doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a birthday.”

“He… doesn’t-”

“Don’t worry about it. Just know this is the best time for a gift.” Farah didn’t quite know how to respond so she simply continued on with the lapels in silence. Well, almost silence. Her grandmother always sang while she worked so Farah had picked up the habit too. If she listened carefully after a while she could hear Duska quietly humming along. The two of them finished their respective tasks fairly quickly, and stood back to look at the whole piece together.

“Looks good! Just the cuffs and buttons left yeah? I can help with them if you’d like?” Farah offered, but Duska shook her head.

“I want to do the finishing touches myself, feels a bit more personal that way, if that makes sense?”

“No, no, I get it. Best of luck with it, whoever the lucky person is he’s sure to love it!” Farah turned to go back to the request board, she’d cover the orders today, Duska deserved the day to herself to finish her work. Farah couldn’t help but wonder who such an extravagant ringmaster’s jacket would be meant for.

 -----------------------

February 14th. Now or never. Duska had been tense all morning, and now as she was carefully packing the box into her delivery satchel she almost felt queasy with nerves. This wasn’t such a big deal, the jacket was nice! Ydris wasn’t going to blast her to dust because she gave him a gift, was he? At worst he’d treat it the same as Isebell’s Yule gift and simply not open it. That would almost be preferable. It was still early in the morning so maybe she could simply drop the package into the delivery box and take off before she was noticed. That was a pretty solid plan, she’d have to leave straight away though.

“Duska?”

There goes that plan.

“Sorry Duska, but if you’re heading in that direction could you deliver this herbal tea to Mrs. Holdsworth?” Farah looked contrite enough that Duska loaded the tea into the bag without a word. She was taking Cinder, her beloved soul horse, if any horse was going to give her the confidence she needed it would be the silver dapple mare. With a pat and a cluck of her tongue, Cinder ambled towards the woodland road to Silverglade Village and beyond. A short detour to Moorland wouldn’t add too much time to her journey, not with the way Cinder liked to gallop down the trail leading there. Speaking of which, the warmblood began to toss her head and pull at the bit when they cleared the woods.

“Alright lady, let ‘em have it,”Duska acquiesced, letting the reins go long. Cinder took off with glee, mane flapping, hooves pounding, and nearly jostling Duska right out of the saddle. This pace would definitely keep them on time!

 “I have your tea leaves Mrs. H,” Duska greeted her favourite neighbourhood witch.

“Thank you darling, sit down and have a cup with me why don’t you?” Mrs Holdsworth patted the picnic bench and Duska was sorely tempted to delay the inevitable by having tea and a chat with her.

“Sorry but, I kind of have an important delivery to do, maybe tomorrow?”

“A gift for a paramour?” Mrs. Holdsworth guessed, a little too accurately and with a glint in her eye.

“Ugh. Who told you?”

“Alex is never a great keeper of secrets, but to give her credit she only confided in me because she was worried,” Mrs. Holdsworth propped her cane against the bench and sat down, “Let me have a peek.” Duska reluctantly dismounted and let Cinder graze while she carefully unboxed the jacket and displayed it to the wise old woman.

Mrs. Holdsworth took her time examining the jacket, turning over the sleeves, peering at the stitching over her half rim glasses and rubbing a thumb over the silk lining. Duska almost felt like she was being assessed for an exam. She wanted to get a good grade on the ‘Old Woman Critiques Your Lovesick Tailoring Exam’. A totally fine and normal thing to want.

“Hm!” Mrs. Holdsworth finally proclaimed. She shuffled over to the base of one of the cherry trees in her yard and bent down, grabbing a handful of grass in the shadow of the tree. “Show me the front again?” Duska flipped the jacket and came closer, careful not to let the coattails drag in the dirt. Mrs. Holdsworth threaded the grass through one of the button holes and tied a knot in the stems. She put her hands on her hips and nodded approvingly. “There you are dearie, now off you go, Valentine’s Day waits for no one!”

Duska repacked the jacket cautiously and looked closer at the grass. Instead of simple blades, Mrs. Holdsworth had put a small bouquet of clovers into the topmost button hole.

------------------------

Time was now of the essence. Duska slid off Cinder’s back as soon she skidded to a halt at Nilmer’s Highland and sprinted to the delivery box. Any courage she’d built up on her exhilarating gallop to get there was rapidly deserting her and she wanted to vault back onto Cinder and scamper back to Valedale as fast as humanly possible. Still, ‘fast as humanly possible’ wasn’t enough to outspeed a leisurely Pandorian stroll, as to her horror, the door of the wagon swung open just as the delivery box lid swung closed.

“Little dove!” Ydris boomed, “to what do I owe the pleasure? I don’t recall making an order at Ms. Farah’s quaint little workshop.” Duska couldn’t do anything to intervene as Ydris flipped the lid and dipped his hand in for the box. “Oh?” He hummed, gently tugging at the ribbon, “a gift for the amazing Ydris? I appear to have an admirer, my dove.”

“Sure seems so,” Duska managed through gritted teeth. He smirked at her and started to prod and poke and shake the box, holding it to his ear and tapping a rhythm on the side. “I know you’re not from around here,” Duska intoned heavily, “but it’s considered rude to look at the box and not open it.”

“Silly me! Let me unravel this mystery!” With one yank on the ribbon the knot fell apart, somehow, and Ydris discarded it over his shoulder. He opened the lid, casting that to one side and too khold of the jacket by the lapels, letting the other half of the packaging fall too. “What do we have… here...?”

Duska held her breath as Ydris fell silent. Silence was unnerving with the ringmaster, as was the look he was giving his gift. His face was carefully expressionless as he turned the coat over, gently brushing his hand over the eggplant purple linen. He drifted up to the golden epaulettes, twirling the fringe between his fingers. Finally he opened the jacket, revealing the purple and gold repeating pattern of-

“Panda rays,” he breathed. There was something almost reverent about the way he traced their shapes and Duska felt almost like she shouldn’t be watching him.

“Yeah they’re one of the nicer things I’ve met from Pandoria, sweet little guys,” she responded, looking to fill the awkward quiet. Ydris looked over at her, seeming surprised at her presence, like he’d forgotten she was there. He shook his head and his smirk was back in its usual place.

“One of? Should I consider that a compliment?” Ydris held the jacket out to her and a horrible swooping feeling in her stomach made her hands shake as she took it, but she was quickly relieved of it again as he whipped his old coat off and traded it for his new one in one fluid motion. He pulled the jacket on with a flourish and twirled in a circle to make the tailcoats flare outwards. “How do I look, little dove?”

“I’d trust you to run a circus looking like that,” Duska smiled weakly, feeling relieved that the ringmaster seemed to like it.

“Ah,” Ydris’ twirling came to a stop and he looked suddenly thoughtful, “but I cannot accept this, I have nothing to give you in return.” Duska began to stammer that there was no need to return the favour but Ydris shushed her. “All I can offer, temporarily, is this.”

He took her hand, softly, gently, like a breeze gently tugging it upwards. He leaned forward, all two metres of him, and when she could feel his breath on her skin he snapped his eyes up to meet hers.

“May I?” Thrown by his question Duska just nodded, and he gently pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Her skin tingled and when she dared to look a soft pink mark was glowing on her hand. “Anytime, anywhere, press here and call me, and I’ll come and find you, no matter what, that is a solemn vow, my dove,” Ydris murmured, in a tone far softer than she’d ever heard from him before.

“T-thank you, Ydris, this is… it’s… I’m honoured you’d trust me with this.” Ydris stood upright, straightening his jacket and looking almost flustered.

“Yes well, maybe wear gloves around your druid friends. It’s a one-way ticket to the druid jail under that quaint summer house.”

“Well if that happens you’ll have to come and rescue me like a dashing knight, won’t you?” Ydris smirked but Duska didn’t miss the faint blush that appeared on his cheeks. It almost glowed like the mark he’d left on her.

“I suppose I shall, and I shall do it looking quite splendid, little dove.”

[tophatsnap]

A Monster Stared Back

What if the mob had never reached Erik's home?

Hi guys. I know I haven’t finished my other things, but I started another thing.. Let me know what you think. It’s just a one shot for the moment. Phanty belongs to Leroux & Lloyd Webber

She had placed the ring in my palm. Her two small hands had closed over my own for a single, precious moment; her touch was soft, tender- something I had seldom experienced. It was one of the few times she had willingly touched me, and we both seemed to pause slightly at the foreign sensation. A final barrier was broken between us as her hands touched mine.

The hands belonging to a man; just a man. Not a ghost, Phantom or specter.

I walked to the bank of the lake and watched her disappear from sight. I do not know what possessed me to do so. Perhaps I was a glutton for my own agony. My chest tightened as I saw her turn back briefly. Our eyes met for a second or two, and then she looked forward once more. Something I would never be able to do.

My fingers still closed around the ring she had given me, I sat down, allowing the tears to freely fall now that Christine was not around to see them. My home had never felt so empty- the oppressive silence was almost too much to bear. How had I lived like this for so long?

The silence was strange tonight though, given everything that had happened above ground. I would have expected some callers by now; the mob, the authorities… or both. Standing up and stashing the ring in my pocket, I waded once more into the murky water before me and peered as far as I could through the tunnel.

Nothing… Not a sound. No yells of impending doom, no distant flashes of light to signify torches approaching… nothing at all. My home was difficult to find, I had made it so, but after all the chaos and destruction I had caused, I was sure that someone would have found me on hatred or revenge alone.

Perhaps Madame Giry had drawn them away, or perhaps she had set her daughter the task. Part of me was relieved by the idea that I would be able to stay where I was and wallow in the grief that was suffocating me with each passing minute, that at least I would have my routine and security… my safety, but the other part told me that I needed to leave… one way or the other. I had either to submit myself to the mob, or the authorities and whatever they had in store, or I had to take my future into my own hands and walk away. Walk away from it all. Whatever that meant…

Everything in this Opera house would now remind me of Christine, the way I had treated her and the person… the monster I had become in the end.

Unceremoniously wiping my nose with my sleeve, I waded back to the shore. I bent down and picked up her veil, placing it back on the mannequin. It used to sit atop the mannequin’s head comfortably, but now it seemed so out of place. It did not belong there anymore. It belonged with Christine.

I decided to leave the portcullis up. For whoever found me in the end deserved the right to justice or revenge... they seemed interchangeable now. What did I have to live for now? I still had my music, but Christine was my music. She was my muse, and for the last few years, she and music had gone hand in hand in my mind. How was I to separate the two?

Another day passed.

Another day of agony…

Finally, I changed out of what was left of my Don Juan Triumphant costume. I couldn’t care less what I wore, but what I did not need was another constant reminder of that night- my home and memories, my face… they were enough. To my disgust, in spite of everything, for the last two days, part of me had expected her to return. To have changed her mind, to have forgiven me… but I knew that I did not deserve forgiveness. I hated how weak I had become because of her. I knew that if she showed her face, I would accept her with open arms and I loathed myself for it.

I hadn’t sought out food since before the night of Don Juan. I hadn’t bathed. I hadn’t even been brave enough to face a mirror. But I hardly felt the pain of hunger, I hardly felt the grime on my body even though prior to this I was exceedingly fastidious with my cleanliness. I found that even though at the root of everything was my appearance, for the first time I hardly cared how I looked.

I hardly cared how I felt save for the ache in my chest and sickness in my stomach that had not left since she had…

The time dragged, and I felt each agonizing second tick by. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to physically hurt so that I could feel something other than this never-ending torment. The sickening thought that she might return, that still… Still she might change her mind…

I was still expecting someone to pay me a visit and make it easy for me; take my life. Take the life that I should never have been given, and since birth have not deserved. But no one came.

I did not know what was happening above ground. It was likely that the Opera had closed for repairs following the damage I had done- if it was to be salvaged at all. I had not yet seen the damage for myself. At this stage I was not leaving my home, but for all I knew, that option might not remain. I could be buried under rubble and not even be aware of it. Entrapped forever in the building I loved so much. A tomb for a corpse; fitting.

Not knowing what else to do, I poured a large glass of wine and drank it all. I poured another and did the same. I approached one of the mirrors that bordered my home and for the first time in days, stared into it.

A monster stared back.

Just as my mother had said it would all those years ago.

Stay away from mirrors, Erik. Or the monster inside will get you!

Well, she was right. The monster had gotten me after all. What was staring back at me was no man. If there ever was a human being in that reflection, he was all but gone now.

All of a sudden I found that the monster was smiling back at me. What was humorous? Who knew. Perhaps the monster was mad. Soon both the monster and I began to laugh together and seemingly minutes passed.

The laugher turned to pain and soon I couldn’t stop the grief from showing itself. I heaved and wept, falling against the mirror- staring back at what I knew was myself.

This face. I was tired of it. It had taken everything from me.

I threw my fists into the glass, each punch sending shards flying out in all directions. It was beautiful, and now I could no longer see the face that had destroyed my life before it had even begun. Feeling slightly better about things, I took a deep breath and poured another glass of wine. I felt nothing as the blood ran down my fingers and onto the ground below.

I moved to the next mirror and repeated the process, beginning to smile again as the alcohol took charge of my actions and I no longer needed to think.

I walked back up to where my wine bottle sat and poured another glass… or half glass. Apparently I had finished the bottle. Picking up the glass and attempting to drink it as I made my way down the stairs to my desk, I lost my footing, slipping on a shard of glass. My wine fell from my hand, and in an attempt to gain balance with the other leg, I twisted my ankle and went tumbling unceremoniously to the floor.

I cringed as my ankle screamed with pain. What had I done? I wasn’t usually this light headed after a single bottle of wine, but my emotions were running high, and I had not eaten for several days now.

I hadn’t wanted to leave, but now I truly couldn’t. I laughed again at the situation I was in, but there was no one around to hear it, and the silence that engulfed my voice made me feel pathetic. I attempted to sit up, only to feel a sharp burn in my side as I did so. I looked down to see that there was a patch of red on my shirt. I lifted it to see that a piece of glass had in fact sliced my side open as I’d fallen. Fantastic. At least it didn’t look too deep.

With a cringe, I sat up. I yelled as I pulled myself to my feet. I truly could not put any weight on my right foot. It would prove troublesome If I did actually need to abscond from my home at any point. Thankfully, seemingly, both the mob and the authorities had given up on me that night. Although, it hardly mattered whether they had or not. What I was doing was not living, and so perhaps it would be alright if they took my life after all. No one else wanted it and I was certainly indifferent at the present time.

Knowing that I should at least elevate my ankle, but neglecting to do so out of spite for myself, I sat at my organ. Not playing, just staring at the keys. I placed my bloodied hands atop them, the keys turning from white to red as I smoothed my fingers over them.

I sat sprawled across my organ, on the verge of sleep when I heard the voice.

“Angel.”

I lifted my head, squinting into the darkness. I must have been dreaming, or perhaps I was still inebriated. No, I couldn’t be. It had been hours and the headache that now plagued me on top of everything else told me that the fun was over, and that now I had to pay for all that I had consumed and the speed with which I had done so. I lay back down, settling into my awkward sitting position, one that had no doubt spoiled my back over time, and closed my eyes.

“Angel. It’s me.”

That voice again. It was her. I sat up again, slowly turning around where I sat to see Christine standing at the bottom of the stairs I had fallen down. She was looking down at the detritus surrounding her; shards of glass, wine stains, other stains… her gaze shifted to mine as I turned. My first reaction was to go to her. For she had returned, and for the last 3 days or so that was all I’d been able to think about. But I calmed myself; my true persona took hold once more once I realized that she had left me. When I had released her, she had not thought twice about leaving with her boy and she had likely only returned out of some sense of pity or duty to her conscience.

“I can see that.” I finally spoke.

She flinched slightly at my cold words.

There was silence as I glared at her.

“Are you alright?” She asked. If it had not been so dark, she might’ve been able to see that I was not, in fact, alright. It was visible that I had not slept, nor eaten, and that I was bleeding from more than one injury.

“Why are you here?” I spoke softly, ignoring her question.

She stepped closer, perhaps taking my question as an invitation.

“Don’t.” I said, turning from her slightly. I still hadn’t replaced my mask, and a harsh word or stare from her in the state I was in, would crush me.

She stopped walking.

“I had to see you.”

“How kind of you.” I quipped. It had been snide, yes, but I didn’t care.

“Angel, please.” She began. “I had to see that you were alright… After we left… I was worried that the mob…”

“You can’t have been too worried, though.” I replied darkly, cutting her off. “It has been two days.” It was a childish argument, and I regretted allowing her to see that I was affected by her in the slightest…

“I know.” She said, looking down. “It was the soonest I could get away.”

Yes, with your marriage planning, I suppose you were quite busy.

I remained silent. She was being guarded too, but why?

“Angel, what happened here?”

“I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Christine.”

“It is of my concern!” She spoke, stepping forward again. This was the first time she had raised her voice to me.

“In what way?” I argued. “You have seen what you came here to. I am alive, if you could call it that. Let your conscience be sated with that, and leave this where it is. Your priorities were made clear to me on Thursday night.” I looked down. She remained silent.

“I let you leave.” I began again, my voice softer. “You did not need to return. You should not be here.” 

My last words were spoken in sincerity. I wanted her with me more than anything, but I had let her leave because I saw that love was not about selfish yearning, but instead, selflessness. I wished her to be happy above all else, above myself. How was she to achieve that If she was still with me? The man who had kidnapped and entrapped her? I felt ill the more I thought of it.

“Well is this how you wish to leave things?” She argued. I looked up.

“We already left things, Christine. I’m sorry, but if you have come here for some sort of closure, I do not know what to tell you. You are free to leave and enjoy your life… I meant that when I said it.” I wasn’t being snide. I hadn’t the energy for that anymore. “Please, go.”

“I will go, but I don’t wish to leave things like this. Not after everything.”

“Please, Christine.” I spoke. Couldn’t she see that her mere presence was torturing me? Taunting me with promises of something that I could not have, that did not want me…

“Angel…” She began.

“Please. Stop calling me that. We both know that it is no longer appropriate.”

“And what is appropriate?” She asked

“…Erik.” I said, almost a whisper. “My name is Erik.”

There was silence for a moment, and then she spoke.

“Well, Erik. Would it be alright If I stayed for a few moments?”

I stared at her, though I was sure she could not see all of my face. Only a few candles were lit by this point, and all that she had with her was a dull lamp. I wished for her to say. I wanted it more than anything. It would be torturous, but she had asked to stay, how could I refuse?

“You may do as you please.” I said coldly.

“Thank you.”

She approached me slowly, awkwardly…

“I will find you a chair.” I said. Though, as soon as I stood up and put my weight on my right foot, pain shot through me and I fell back onto my organ, holding it for support.

“Are you alright?” She cried. I could not stop her from approaching now, nor could I move away. All I could do was cover my face, and so I did so.

“What happened to you?” She asked, moving closer. “Oh… your hands… you’re bleeding!”

“Yes.”

Indeed, I was. It had not really bothered me until I had seen the pieces of glass sticking out of my skin, and now it was beginning to sting.

“Let me help you.” She reached out for the hand that was leaning on the organ, giving me balance. I pulled away, almost falling again.

“Don’t touch me.” I said. I hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh, but I couldn’t let her in. Not when I was already in so much pain at the thought of losing her. I yearned for her touch, and yet I knew it would be the end of me… “I can do it myself.”

“What happened?” She asked again.

I did not respond. Instead, I stood up and limped to the bedroom she had once slept in. She followed me as I entered and sat on the edge, bending down to retrieve my bespoke first aid kit from underneath it.

“What is that?” She enquired, staring at the small box I had in my hands.

“You need not worry.” I said curtly.

“There is no need to be rude to me.”

No, there wasn’t. If I didn’t want her around, I needed to tell her. But I did… oh, how I did.

“I apologize.” I said. “But you do not need to be here, nor do you need to witness this. You should leave.”

With that, she stood up and left the room. I stared after her. Was that it? Had she left? Without so much as a goodbye? Perhaps it was for the best. I set the box down and lit some of the candles in the bedroom. I needed to see what I was doing. I was not particularly fond of living, but I did not wish to die from infection. I had come close before and It was not pleasant.

The light in the room made me more comfortable. It hadn’t before, but now, I felt less alone. I could pretend that everything was as it had been before Thursday; before Don Juan Triumphant.

I stood up, ready to limp to the kitchen in search of a bowl and some water to wash out my wounds, and Christine entered the room, standing before me just inside the door way. My hand flew to my face.

“I thought you’d left.” I said,

“No.” She said, now only two feet from me. She was intoxicating. “I went to find these.” I looked down at what she was holding out; my mask and wig. Could it be that she wanted me to feel comfortable? “You shouldn’t have to hide your face in your own home, but I thought these would make you feel more at ease.”

I took them, turning my back to her to put them on. I did indeed feel more at ease. I had not worn a mask since she had ripped it off me on stage… I turned back to her, smoothing my wig back in an attempt to look more presentable. Though, I hadn’t shaved in days and I likely looked like death due to lack of sleep.

“Thank you.” I said, my voice low, not wanting to give away too much. In truth I was amazed by the gesture. Did my comfort mean that much to her, or did she want my face covered for her own benefit? I tried not to think about it.

“You’re welcome… Erik.” She said. My name sounded beautiful on her tongue. “Now please, let me help you, and then if you still wish it, I will leave.”

Avoiding eye contact with her, I nodded.

“Water.” I spoke. “I will need a bowl of water.”

“Alright.” She smiled guardedly, before leaving the room again.

When she returned I was sitting on the side of the bed once more, tweezers in hand. She set the bowl on the ground before kneeling before me, watching my hands intently. It made me nervous. I don’t know if it was her or the pain that was making my hands shake but it was making things very difficult. As soon as the tweezers came in contact with a piece of glass I yelled in pain, refraining from cursing aloud.

“Allow me.” She offered, reaching for the tweezers.

“No!” I growled. “I can look after myself, Christine!”

“Let me help you!” She retorted.

“Why!”

“I am not going to sit here and watch you put yourself through pain! Now, give me the tweezers!”

I was stunned. Who was this woman? Before I could say anything she had taken them from me and held out her hand.

Slowly, I offered her one of mine, and as soon as our palms touched, I felt weak. Her hand was warm and soft. Suddenly, the pain was gone. How was I to live without this feeling now that I knew what it felt like?

“Thank you.” She said sternly.

We did not speak as she gently removed the shards from one hand, and washed it in water. I handed her the iodine without a word and she poured it over my hand. It stung horribly, but as Christine wiped the excess blood away and gently bandaged me, I could not help but stare at her. She was so gentle with me after all I had done. I did not deserve this. I offered her my other hand without her needing to ask, and she offered a small smile in return. She was so beautiful.

She repeated the process in silence. She had asked numerous times what had happened, and I had neglected to answer. Why was I making her suffer when she was offering nothing but kindness?

“The mirrors.” I stated awkwardly once she had finished.

She looked up.

“You asked what had happened.” I added.

“The mirrors.” She began. “I just pulled pieces of them out of your flesh, therefore I gathered as much.”

Was that sarcasm? I stared at her- unused to being spoken to like this, I remained silent.

“The real question is why.” She spoke.

“I don’t have an answer for that.” I said. She nodded again.

“I see.” She said. “And what of that?” She gestured to the patch of blood on my shirt.

“It’s nothing.”

“Just like your hands?” She smirked.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because you cannot help yourself.”

“I can. And if that is why you are here, you may leave.”

“I am not leaving until I know that you are alright.”

“But why do you care?!”

“Because it is who I am! You once meant a lot to me. You were there for me when no one else was, and you did more for me than anyone could hope to understand. Over the past few months you turned into something else but I know that the real you is still in there somewhere! And that is who I am helping! Are you satisfied with that!?”

No, I wasn’t. Not at all.

“You don’t know the real me.” I began, continuing the argument.

“And neither do you! You have become so disconnected with yourself that you had to pause when I asked what your name was!”

I did not expect this from Christine and I was in no mood for an argument.

“I am the Phantom, Christine. Whether you like it or not, that is who I am now, and that is who you are helping.”

“…And if I asked you to be someone different? If I asked you to be Erik?”

I paused, looking down at my bandaged hands. I would do anything for her, be whoever she wanted me to be- perhaps she knew that.

I sighed.

“I don’t know how to be that person anymore.”

“You do.”

I had been the Phantom for so long that Erik had not mattered- he had not been needed. But perhaps the only way to keep Christine around was to find him again.

“Now, am I sitting before the Phantom tonight?” Christine continued. “Was it the Phantom’s wounds I just dressed?”

I shook my head slightly.

Christine nodded in response.

“Alright.” She said. My eyes met hers briefly. I could not hold her gaze for long, not like I used to. Not when I was feeling so powerless. “Can I see your side? I’d like to see if there is glass in there. The only way you’d be able to do that yourself is if you used a mirror- and you don’t have any of those left.”

The girl had made an attempt at humor. I smirked slightly. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen it.

“Lie back.” She said. I did as she instructed. Unfortunately, the cut was fairly high up, across my ribs. I watched her carefully as I lifted my shirt, just enough for her to see the wound. She seemed nervous, and I saw her take a deep breath. Was she… blushing?

I had several scars littering my torso that I did not want her to see and question. But apart from that, it was improper. I was already feeling self-conscious, so when she took hold of my shirt and pulled it around further I stopped her.

“Stop.”

“Ang… Erik. I have to see the wound.” She seemed annoyed.

“You could see it. I pulled my shirt up high enough.”

“You need to hold it up higher if I’m to clean it for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to see this.”

“Erik, I lived in the theatre for many years. I have seen a man’s chest before. Please, relax.”

It wasn’t that. I wasn’t ashamed of my scars as I was my face, but I didn’t want the questions… the pity… I’d suffered enough of that tonight.

“Please.” She added. “Don’t fight me on everything.”

I looked at her sweet face. How could I deny her? I would just have to explain myself- something I loathed doing.

I took a deep breath.

“Scars.” I spoke, my voice low. “I have scars I do not wish for you to see.”

“Everyone has scars.”

“Not like this.” Indeed, not many people had been whipped, cut, and burned for entertainment. “I have cared for myself many times before, Christine. And I have survived. Please. Tell me if there is any glass that you can see, and I will do the rest.”

She sighed, but thankfully she did not question what I said.

“There was no glass.”

I nodded.

She handed me a cloth soaked in iodine, and I cleaned my own wound. It stung terribly- but I could tell from the pain that I would not need stitches.

Though, my ankle throbbed, and I made the mistake of glancing down at it.

“Your ankle?” She asked. “What did you do?”

“I twisted it when I fell. But please, you need not…”

But she was already at the foot of the bed.

“Which one is it? Your right?”

“Christine please. Really. You don’t need to.”

The last thing I wanted was her inspecting my foot. In my life people had seldom touched me with good intent. No one had ever touched my feet, I didn’t want to subject her to that. Also, it felt strangely intimate, and it would be incredibly awkward. I didn’t want that. 

When she touched my boot, pain shot through me. I clenched the sheets and groaned.

“I’m sorry.” She asked apologetically. “Did that hurt?”

“Yes.”

“We have to get it off before the swelling gets worse.”

I knew it to be the case, though, I did not want her involved.

She touched my boot again, this time more gently. She slowly unlaced it and pulled it off.

“Christine, no. Just leave it. Please.”

“It looks quite swollen.” She said, ignoring me. She began to remove my sock.

“Stop. You shouldn’t.” I said, pulling away from her. Though the movement that pulling away caused me was excruciating.

“Why not?” She asked, a smile coming to her lips. “Ticklish?”

Was I?

God, I hadn’t even thought of that.

Surely she wouldn’t…

She wouldn’t dare…

Not while I was in pain.

Not ever!

Why was she still here!?

I frowned at her, unimpressed with what she had suggested.

“No. You just…”

She watched me struggle for words.

You shouldn’t have to do this to someone who treated you so poorly.

“It-It makes me uncomfortable.” I finally said.

“Erik, for the last time. I am going to help you. Now stop fussing, please. You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be!”

She pulled off the sock and inspected my ankle. I looked away and closed my eyes, not wanting to see her expression. This was too strange. The situation was surreal; I didn’t like feeling this human. This vulnerable. But I didn’t have a choice. The girl was determined.

“It’s swollen and bruised.” She said. I opened my eyes and looked down. It was indeed. It looked awful. “I don’t know much about injuries unfortunately, but I have rolled my ankle once or twice while dancing.”

I knew she had. I had seen it each time it had happened and it had taken every ounce of strength not to go to her and pick her up.

“I have had injuries that have looked similar to this.” She said. “Does it feel broken?”

“No.” I stated. I just wanted this to end. She gently took my foot in her hand, slowly turning it to the side to inspect the other side of the ankle. Having never been touched there, my skin was sensitive. It felt heavenly. I closed my eyes, guiltily enjoying the feeling of her soft skin against mine.

“It looks worse on the inside.” She said. I opened my eyes again. “I’ll wrap it for you.”

“No, you don’t…”

“You cannot do it yourself, Erik.” She said, clearly annoyed with me.

She gently wrapped my ankle. Each time her skin came in contact with mine, a jolt of pleasure shot through me. She couldn’t be here anymore. I could not bear it. Christine placed a cushion beneath my foot and walked nearer to me, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You’ll need to stay off it for a few days.” She said. “And you should change your shirt. The last thing you need is an infection.”

I nodded, deciding it was best not to argue with her. She was not the Christine I remembered.

“Will you be leaving now?” I asked. “I am quite capable, Christine. Despite what you may think. You should feel free to leave.”

“I do feel free to leave.”

I stared at her. What was she trying to say?

“Do you wish for me to leave?”

Of course I didn’t.

“It is not up to me.” I answered strategically.

“It is a simple question, Erik. Requiring a simple answer.”

How had Christine Daae changed in such a short amount of time? Perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps I hadn’t really known her at all…

What I had suffered was demeaning. I was not accustomed to accepting help; being treated like I was incompetent, like a child. But never had anyone helped me as Christine had, and if it meant her staying around for just a little while longer, I would accept it.

“No, Christine. I do not wish for you to leave…”