The Art of Manipulation || Phantom of the Opera & Loki the God of Mischief ||

-Erik's Farewell-

Facing the front again, I gazed at the black casket two paces before me. I took in a shuddering breath, my feet planted to the ground, unwilling to move any closer. Biting my bottom lip I closed the treacherous distance, my left hand flying to my mouth to hold back the sob that erupted as I saw the man within the coffin. An avalanche of tears fell down my pale cheeks, blurring the image of the masked man. My right hand rested on his chest, my ears defiantly searching for the sound of his heart, stubbornly rejecting the fact that it no longer functioned. I then moved my hand to his, holding it tight. He felt so cold beneath my touch. So lifeless. Nothing like the Erik I had said farewell to.

When the crowd began to disperse I remained seated at the back of the chapel. My black hair and my pale lips were the only parts visible under the hood of my cloak.

The large family that had been seated at the front of the church stood from their bench. Each of the children gave their father one last kiss before they closed the lid of the coffin; it's thud! deafening with finality.

I lowered my head further as the descendants of the masked man made their way to the back of the chapel, the quiet children waiting patiently as their mother said her goodbyes to the closed casket. Her footsteps echoed softly as she slowly dragged herself further from her deceased husband. When she reached the doors I waited for them to open - but they didn't. Instead I heard Christine's soft voice ask, "Madame Alouette?"

Taking in a sharp breath I looked to the ground and saw the hem of Christine's ebony skirt. I lifted my head, my hood restricting me to seeing only part of Christine and the bundle of papers I hadn't noticed she was holding when I first came in.

"It is you, isn't it?" Her voice sounded different now, age wearing it down slightly, making it sound dryer and weary.

Standing, I towered over her petite frame. I pushed the hood off of my head and made myself meet her tired but eager gaze, "Hello, Christine. I'm so sorry for your loss."

A melancholy smile broke onto Christine's beautifully aging face. Grasping my hands like she had done many times when she was a chorus girl, she stared at me, her face eventually falling, "You haven't aged a day." She looked at me longingly, wanting to know my secret to keeping a young face. Like she needed a secret to not aging at all. She has always been beautiful, and will always be beautiful. Perhaps that will be harder for her to believe now that Erik will no longer be here to tell her. He was always good with those things. He was never afraid of telling something just how beautiful it was, whether it was human or animal; he would never allow it to doubt it's beauty.

Christine introduced me to her children, the littlest one with the black curls staring up at me in wonder. She was the only child who bore Erik's emerald eyes. Their children acknowledged me politely, but none of them knew me. A pang shot through my heart when I came to realize Erik had never told them about me, even before he began losing his memory. But why would he, after all?

Looking back to me, Christine smiled sadly, "You know, Erik lost quite a lot of his memory these past few months. But I did find this." She brought the stack of paper she had been carrying out from under her arm. "I brought it along, hoping you might be here tonight. I think he would want you to have it, even if..." She trailed off.

Even if he forgot about me.

I took the papers she handed to me and read the writing across the first page:

Don Juan Triumphant

Turning to the next page, I read the inscription that had been written with Erik's handwriting:

For the woman like no other women. My friend whom I never deserved. And who I could never sneak up on. Thank you for being my friend.

A sob shook my body. It was marked a year ago, a few months before his mind started to disintegrate, before his memory of me fell through the cracks and was washed away forever.

Christine had lowered her head, allowing me a moment to let my tears fall. Glancing at the music in my hands she said, "He never told me who the inscription was for."

Vigorously wiping my face with the back of my hand I said, "Thank you for this, Christine. It means a lot to me."

She smiled warmly, "He always enjoyed composing with you."

Nodding, I swallowed another sob, "As did I."

________________

A/N: *cringes because its been a week since my last update* So sorry everyone! As I've mentioned before, my family and I are circus performers, and just recently, we did ten shows in only three days... We had three shows on Thurs. & Fri. and four shows today (at different places *groans*). Needless to say, I had little time to eat, let alone write. But I was able to post this (short) chapter. We finally got to see the inscription that was in the original score of Don Juan! So many Erilette feels!

I wanted to post two chapters at once to make up for the shortness of this flashback chapter but I won't have time (or brain energy) to do it tonight. Hopefully tomorrow I can edit the next chapter and post it!

I hope you all have a Phantastic and Lokitastic evening!

xx
~ Mabelle