Through Music We Thrive

By DemonicBooks

75.7K 2.4K 252

Cecilia has been playing at the Opera Populaire as long as she can remember. She grew up there with many girl... More

Prologue
I - Cecilia
II - Erik
III - Cecilia
IV - Erik
V - Cecilia
VI - Erik
VII - Cecilia
VIII - Erik
IX - Cecilia
X - Erik
XI - Cecilia
XII - Erik
XIII - Cecilia
XV - Cecilia
XVI - Erik
XVII - Cecilia
XVIII - Erik
Author Note/Sequel News

XIV - Erik

3.3K 128 11
By DemonicBooks

I awoke to a pounding headache. Annoyed, I decided to take a stroll to see if some fresh air would do me any good. When I got outside I saw my angel talk to the carriage man.

"To the cemetery." I heard my love say. As she scurried off to get a cloak I crept up and knocked the man out.

She returned and directed me to her father's grave. She made her way there slowly glancing around the cold cemetery with a strange emotion in her eyes.

I sang to her, hoping she would return to me instead of the insolent brat she was engaged to. My music was then interrupted by said brat. I leapt down from my perch on the crypt and drew my sword.

I lashed out at him wishing only for him to be dead. He wasn't worthy of my Christine. We leapt over coffin, crypts, and decorative walls in our battle. Using my cape to distract him I managed to get a deep cut on his shoulder.

I grew frustrated with the fact that he was not as weak as he looked, it's be so much nicer if he was a truly awful swordsman.

He fought back with such ferocity, disarming me before aiming to kill. "Raoul, don't!" I looked to Christine. "Don't. Not like this." She whispered.

Raoul sagged and walked to his horse. Pulling himself, then Christine up, they rode out of the graveyard. I watched them go as dull anger pooled within me. I tried to regain my breath.

"Now, let it be war," I muttered to myself. "On you both."

I made my way back to the opera house, returning the carriage and horses on the way. I was angry, storming passed the candles of my passages, nearly blowing them out. I growled in frustration as I thought of the happy couple. Why would Christine never love me?! Why was I cursed with this gargoyle's face?

I raced down passages trying to cool my rage. I ended up slumping in front of the mirror that led to the primadona room. I groaned thinking of how all my steps led to Christine. Foolish, vile Christine. Beautiful, endearing Christine.

I spun on my heel and forced myself in the other direction. If I could not have Christine, neither would that bastard, Raoul.

I found myself out of the passageways and in an abandoned hallway. I glanced around realizing a few doors from where I stood was Cecilia's room. I had no control as my feet led me to her door. I cracked it open to find her room empty.

I sighed. I suddenly felt... disheartened. I shook myself and started to walk away when I saw her storming down the hall. Her hair was a mess as if she had run a pitchfork through it. Her eyes were open, and although she was blind her eyes had a scorching fire that froze me in my tracks.

She paused in the dim hallway. "Erik?" She questioned. "Is that you?"

"Yes." I say. "I am here." I saw her shoulders relax before she walked into her room.

"Come in, I need to play, I assume you want to listen." She said taking a deep breath as if to calm her own rage. I followed her into the room and settled on her bed.

She briskly picked up her bow and cello and began to play. It was a harsh tango that spoke volumes of her mood. She was so angry and bitter. She bit her lip harshly causing blood to well up and drip. I released a gasp at the sight of the blood.

I grasped her wrist stopping her bow's movement. She was breathing heavily and had her head bowed to look at her lap. "Breathe. It's okay, why are you angry?" I asked.

"It's not that important." She muttered. "Madam Giry told me how you came to the opera house. I was angry with how you have been treated your whole life."

I stiffened. Why had Madam Giry told her this? "...I'm sorry you had to hear that." I whisper.

"No, I'm glad I heard it." She states boldly. "I am proud of you."

I released her wrist and stumbled back. "Proud of me?" I echoed.

She nodded. "You haven't tried to silence the music of your own life. It's been playing since your life began and will play after it ends." She says. "I believe you are beautiful. I believe you are kind. I believe you are misunderstood."

"You- you're- uh." My face felt hot. This blind girl held a certain power over me. I didn't understand but I craved to be near her music. The music that was so much like mine.

"I believe you don't have to be lonely."

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