Too Dark to Even Try (Beneath a Moonless Sky fanfic)

The Silence of the Night

    Disclaimer: I do not own POTO nor LND.

This chapter is to show what Erik is feeling, just like the chapter prior to this. Super sorry it's short!! My next chapters won't be!

Please vote, comment, and enjoy!!

  Days became tolerable now that Erik had Camille.

  They often spoke for hours in his room, about the opera and other, simpler times. She was easy to talk to, and it helped Erik's mind to focus on Camille, and not think of her.

Evenings were even better, Erik was wining almost every bet now at the Bloody Pony, and saving the money for his ticket to America.

After that, he'd come home to room 407 and find Madame Giry and Meg sitting in his room eating a modest super. Erik would sit down and eat with them, which he often found quite pleasent. The three of them spoke only of light conversational topics, such as the weather or passing a strange looking person in the street.

Erik did not ask them how they were earning money for their tickets, and they did not tell him.

No, the days at the Drunken Pig in were not bad, and infact, rather good.

But nights....

Nights were hell.

As he lay in the dark on his bed, with the occasional noise from the street, Erik's mind filled up with thoughts of all that had happened.

He thought of Christine, of the Before Christine and the After Christine.

The Before Christine believed Erik to be her music angel, and he did not deny her.

He would sing down to her from behind the walls of her dressing room, unseen to her.

Erik had been desperately in love with Christine from the very moment he'd heard her sing---that beautiful instrument he had helped create! He had taught her how to sing, how to really sing, not that light opera, but true passionate singing.

Christine soared. She was truly the angel, a lost, untouchable angel. And Erik loved her. 

As her angel, she loved him. She loved him as one would love a father or mentor. This was enough to overjoy Erik, until she sang at the Opera Populaire as the leading soprano.

He watched her from box number five, singing with passion and heart, tears streaming down her beautiful, porcelain face.

Erik then knew he needed much more then fatherly love from his little angel. He wanted to marry her---marry the innocent soprano he had created.

That night he took her down into his lair, and showed her that he was a man---a man she could love.

And she tore of his mask.

Christine had prided it off of his face, exposing her to see the horror that laid beneath it.

She hated her angel. She had hated Erik for nothing more than being ugly....Erik grew into a deep despair.

He did everything he could to show her he was just a man...but only showed her a monster.

Erik turned into his side, staring at the window glass.

Then, there was the Vilcomte. Her childhood lover, who still owed that innocent, good hear of Christine's. The Vilcomte was good and beautiful, everything she wanted. Erik was evil and hideous and yet....his heart belonged to an angel.

Oh, the laughable irony!

Christine chose the Vilcomte's beauty and youth, leaving Erik---her teacher, the owner of her voice!

All of Erik's creations, his music, were for her and only her. Every note, every word, all for Christine. He lived for her.

Erik watched out the window as the street lamp candle blew out from the wind. He moaned, and thought of the last time he'd seen Christine.

She stood there, in her white gown, the hem inches deep in mud. It was torn at the ends as if she had been running.

How did she find him?

As if that was not enough to rip his heart from it's tangible seems, Christine looked at him in a way she never had.

Her melting brown eyes reflected his own secrets. She wanted to touch him. Her expression showed it, everything about her displayed what she felt.

Erik had not known what to do. This was the woman who had torn his mask from his face---this was the woman who had betrayed him.

And yet...her eyes shown bright with desire.

Erik tossed and turned in his bed, the haunting thoughts tearing at his mind.

Why must he always think of her? Why did he love her? She had made it clear that she did not love him...but then why was she there, at the Drunkin Pig Inn? Did Christine want to see him? Has she sought him out?

Then, the Vilcomte had come. He had wrapped his arms around Christine, saying he'd take her home.

Watching him do that has stirred something inside Erik, and he knew he had to act quickly if he would ever get an explanation from Christine's lips.

The brown leather cloak fit across Christine's shoulders like a puzzle piece.

Erik sat up abruptly in bed, throwing the quilt off of him. He was sweating---was it always this warm at night? Erik couldn't remember.

He stumbled out of bed, staggering pitifully to his window. Touching the cool glass, Erik slid the window open. A breeze flew into the room like an angel's breath, caressing Erik tenderly. He sighed, relief washing over him.

He walked to his bed, and sat down. His thoughts once more filled to the brim with Christine---but not painful memories.

Erik thought of her childlike fascination with his music...the way she used to awe over it.

He thought of her innocent eyes, warm and chocolate brown. Her thick, romantic lashes surrounded them, completing the forget me not allure that they possessed.

Erik began to think of other small details about her. Like the way she always smiled when she sang a note right for the first time, or the way her nose wrinkled as she laughed.

He smiled faintly at the bittersweet memories of his little angel.

Erik laid down on the firm mattress, pulling the quilt over himself.

Suddenly, he felt empty, as if something had abandoned him. Erik felt his heart weaken in his chest, like someone had drained something out of it.

Erik gasped, and say up once more, clutching the spot in his chest where the pain surged.

That is when he realized, he had lost something very important.

Erik had lost his muse.

Christine had been his soul for his seducing, possessive music. But now she was gone, and with it, his muse.

Erik wanted to cry out, wanted to curse Christine and her bewitching, tempting voice. But it would do nothing. It was his fault, he had believed in his foolish heart and now he must pay the price.

Erik leaned back against the wooden bed post, and groaned.

The silent night filled his ears, painfully still. He had to hear voice again, needed to hear her sing for him...to feel the passion and desire her eyes showed in intimacy, laced in her angelic voice.

Erik knew that he could not live much longer until he heard his Christine sing once more.