He is a man. Despite his protestations to the contrary, despite how much he insists that he is little better than a demon spat from the jaws of Hell itself he is, in fact, just a man. A boy some gentler souls might say, full of wonder for the things that the rest of this faded humanity take for granted. In many ways he is a child, lost in his own imaginings, in the dreams and nightmares he has woven for himself within the safety of his Opera House. It is why his own human desires are so difficult to comprehend. It is why it is Nadir who suggested to him how to satisfy them and why Erik could not think of the solution himself.

 

It is why he has surfaced from deep below Paris so early in the evening when there are as many people wandering the lamp lit streets as there is at noon. He has even gone to the trouble of dressing appropriately for the occasion, though he cannot be entirely certain what that entails. He is wearing his finest suit and a black frock coat made of soft vicuna wool as well as his usual fedora, the brim pulled down to hide his shame in shadow.

 

A painting? Of him? Erik thought it strange that anyone should think to give him such a gift and yet she had. He found himself feeling... grateful. No, more than that. There was so much sincerity in the feeling that he couldn't place it. He couldn't imagine what about the artwork that inspired such a warm feeling inside of him. Perhaps it was the gesture that came with it.

 

The point was, he was thankful and he wasn't certain how to react. He led Elizabeth down the dark, gloomy passageways of the Populaire, steadily making their way downwards. He carried with him an oil lamp to light the way though it was more for her benefit than for his. He had no use for it when his eyes had become so accustomed to near constant darkness.

 

"Stay close," he whispered to her, the deep baritone of his voice echoing off the dripping walls. "I would not wish for you to lose your way." And it was so easily done as they twisted and turned through tunnel after tunnel, each the same as the last. Until he abruptly came to a halt.

 

This was another entrance into his caverns, one that, though more secret than the rest, was not as lengthy or riddled with traps. He stopped halfway along a dank corridor, rats scuttling out of his way, though he paid them no mind. He was far too accustomed to having only the vilest of creatures around him to do so.

 

Carefully, he slid open a hidden doorway in the stone wall, flooding the tunnel with light that burst from the inside. He moved aside, and offered her a small bow. "Ladies first."

 

Erik was not, as a general rule, one who entertained. He had no reason to be. Except for the occasional fool that stumbled their way into his caverns, he was rarely ever visited by anyone, particularly someone who actually wanted his company. He was out of his depth and, if he were honest with himself, he was nervous.

 

He lay on his front inside a small compartment in the ceiling where, through an otherwise undetectable hole, invisible to the naked eye from ground level, Erik could watch people come and go in the lobby of the opera house. He had had to resist the urge to send a note to Madame Giry, instructing her to tell his guest that he was detained and could not see her this evening. He had even began to scrawl it on a piece of paper in his usual red ink and with every intention of sending it.

 

He hadn't. Instead he had sent Madame Giry another note, one that instructed her to meet his guest and make sure that she would be in a secluded place for him to meet her. With his chin on his crossed arms, he watched as Madame Giry stood in the middle of the foyer awaiting the arrival of his guess, her walking stick held neatly in front of her and her bun as tight and perfect as ever.

 

 

Erik is unprepared for his new role as king.

Erik is excited to announce his new bobble head doll.

Erik is anything but a local sex god.

Erik is the original member of keyboard player Haakon Graf's band "Grafitti".

Erik is forming an original band with Doug Brooks on bass and Adam Belahaye on drums.
Erik is determined to expose her.

Erik is about half an hour below the south summit.

Erik is on the right with the elephant.
Erik is not going out with Mandy Moore and he never was.

There were no words to describe this pain. No, it was not a pain. Pain was something physical, something that could be identified and healed. This was a hole that had been gouged into his heart, scooping from him what little goodness he had possessed. All that remained was hanging flesh left to dry and shrivel into blackened crust.

 

He was turning to dust inside.

 

"Christine," he sighed into the nothingness of his caverns, his only answer the echo of his voice. He had no tears for they had long since dried, leaving his eyes feeling dry and stale. His disease, his love, was slowly making it was to the surface, ready to erode his still living corpse. How he wished the death could be swift but Erik knew long ago that he had always been destined for this suffering. Quick and painless was not an option.

 

He lay on his back, his eyes looking upwards. It was fitting, really, that he should face the surface when he died. Had that not what he had always done? Looked longing upwards only wishing to be able to ascend but always finding himself wanting. He had not earned the right to be among them. His salvation was gone. He was condemned to this Hell.

 

Finally the tomb he had built for himself would serve it purpose.

 

With every passing moment, he could feel the shrivelled remains of his heart crumbling away. His chest almost felt like it was caving inwards, as though his ribs were unable to support his rotted flesh. Erik was being crushed and yet he did not regret his decision.

 

He would do anything for Christine even if, like the spider, he had to be killed for his sin.


[ooc: Also, I need a new prompt/writing community. I don't suppose anyone has any recommendations?]

He was running. Wet leaves on the ground slid against his bare feet, making him stumble as he struggled through the dense forest. Behind him, he could hear the crunching of heavy boots and yelled orders.

 

"He's gone!"

 

"This way!"

 

"Find him!"

 

He kept running, blind in the complete darkness. He had no idea in which direction he was going. He could very well be running in circles for all he knew but he didn't stop. He didn't dare.

 

"Boy! Get back here!"

 

Oh, no. Javert was with him. If he was caught now... No, he wouldn't let them take him back.

 

Erik ran until his thin legs, littered with bloody cuts from the undergrowth, could carry him now further. Naked, skeletal ribs heaved with the effort of every wheezing breath but still they came.

 

"BOY!"

 

Backing against a tree, he slid to the ground, arms covering his head. He couldn't run anymore. There was no escaping them and Erik could only imagine the whipping he would receive when he was dragged back to camp. His back was already smarting with anticipation.

 

"Boy?"

 

Erik lifted his head. A little girl stood in front of him, dressed in a nightgown, her dark head of curls tied neatly. She wasn't one of the Gypsy children. She held a small toy monkey in her hands.

 

"You can stop running now."