The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

Unmasked

"Who are you?" I asked.

She shook her head sadly.

"They never gave me a name. My mother and her faerie folk were horrified by my cross-breed nature. They cast me away to Hell, where my demonic father resides, but I was unwanted there as well. As his single gift he imparted upon me a title, a purpose and a hunger, and sent me to Earth to roam and feed upon humans," she stopped her monologue and then hesitated before continuing.

"I am a Demi-demon of Lone Sufferers. What is your name?"

Devil's child. Opera ghost. Angel of Music. Phantom. Murderer.

"... Erik."

"Erik... Never before have I encountered a man like you. In these past few months your loneliness alone has fed me enough to keep me satisfied for years. I can go to sleep now. I can afford to rest. It isn't in my nature to do good, but this one time I feel I must. Let me thank you."

The genuine emotion in her voice reached out to me, but I turned away, too shocked to think, too ashamed to have before me someone who tasted my pain, my loneliness and heartbreak. She touched my shoulder.

"Leave me!" I growled and shook her off.

She came after me.

"Let me give you something in return, just this once," she insisted.

Suddenly there was a small, unexpected joy in being with this equally lonely, bold creature who did not fear me. I turned to face her.

And she surprised me with a brief but intense kiss.

My senses tingled, even if my heart did not sing as it did with Christine. Still the comfort was real, and the pleasure lingered.

"My faerie blood enables me to mask my looks, but not for long. I can change, if you would like me to look like her," she said carefully.

"No! Don't do that. It would be painful... and wrong. And it is her voice I miss the most."

She lowered her head, giving me a better view of her small black horns, and looking troubled. It was endearing.

"I could then maybe find a way to alter your face... Since it haunts you so. But I don't want to."

"Why not?" I stared at her.

"You are a dark, interesting, intense man. Your face is a part of that identity. Toss it away and you won't be you... And I won't know anyone-- I will be more alone," she finished awkwardly. "Not that I wish you to suffer anymore... Just, you should stay yourself."

I started to pace before her with an uneven breath.

"Toying with my life and dreams, is that why you have arrived here? To torment me with the glimpses of pleasure? To tease my hopes only to smash them?"

"No. I am sorry. I did not mean it like that. I don't know if I can help you with that, anyway. And besides, you would never again be able to show yourself to your Christine then, lest she think you a demon or a sold soul."

"She already hates and fears me."

"Are you sure it's irrevocable? Go after her, Erik."

"No. I let her be free. I will not undo my one good deed."

"Neither will you atone for your bad ones if you hide here like a rat."

It was useless arguing with her, and besides, I was tempted by her words. I could already envision a plan...

"I wish I could help you, but even by feeding on your suffering I cannot really ease your pain."

She came before me and took my agitated hands in hers. This time, her touch did not burn. It was soothing. I raised my hand from her grasp and touched her left cheek, the green one, that had the texture of a tree bark.

"Willow," I said.

"What?"

"Willow bark is a medicine. It can relieve pain, it lowers fever... Your skin is a little like tree bark here, hence, Willow. If you like it. As a name."

"Oh. Thank you, that's wonderful," she blinked and looked up at me. Her eyes were wide and full of depth, and night itself shone within them.

In that moment I truly felt a touch of kinship with this small woman, this strange fearless creature that has seen my soul bared.

"Play me one last song, Erik, and make it a good one," she said then.

And I did, and when I reached the final note, she embraced me, to take and give comfort in the only way she could, and her touch was like a rain in a millennia-old desert. And, as if by some magic or illusion, one moment our faces were whole, and the other they were not, and the beauty was in the fact that ultimately it did not matter.