Hi guys. This one’s a little overdue because I’ve had some stuff going on. The prompt is below. Hope you like it, Anon!
“It would take place right after the final lair, where Madame Giry confronts Erik, trying to get him to safety from the mob. Erik, of course, doesn’t cooperate.” -Anon
Erik turned away. Why had he forced himself to watch? To see Christine disappear around the corner with the boy? The sight was too much. It was painful and yet he hadn’t been able to look away. But then of course, he’d always possessed that self-destructive streak. He’d always been prone to wounding himself far worse than the world ever could. Perhaps he’d done it for a reason. Perhaps he’d watched so the image would be seared in his memory, so that it would be real.
No. He’d watched because he wanted to. He’d watched because he loved her and he knew that it was the last time he’d ever see her.
That was it. That was all.
But it was over. He inhaled shakily, almost collapsing in defeat where he stood. He walked up the faux-riverbank and sat at his desk, head in his hands. He could hear the mob approaching. No doubt they would be here soon. It hardly mattered though. He was afraid, yes… who wouldn’t be? But it wasn’t a matter of fear. There was simply nothing left to live for. At least they would finish the job. At least it would be quick. Well… relatively quick. Faster than an spending the rest of his days; an eternity without her.
He looked up, haphazardly wiping his tears as his gaze met with Christine once more. She was everywhere; paintings, sketches. He couldn’t escape her. Though, soon he would be able to. Soon, it would be over.
Erik stood once more and walked back to the edge of the lake. They sounded closer now. It wouldn’t be long…
“Erik!” A harsh call came from behind him.
Erik frowned. Surely he hadn’t sunk that far into the depths of insanity. Not yet, anyway.
“Erik!” It called again. He spun around.
Madame Giry?
It was coming from one of the many mirrors decorating the far wall of his home; mirrors that were of course not just mirrors. Some were doorways. Erik walked closer to the source of the sound and listened, his head inclined slightly in the direction of the one that revealed a passageway to the grand foyer.
“Are you there? If you are, answer me this instant!” Yes. It was Madame Giry, alright.
“You should not have come Antoinette. It is about to become very dangerous.”
“Erik, you open this door this instant!” She yelled, her voice muffled by the glass. “We haven’t much time!”
“No, we haven’t.” He answered.
“Open the door!”
“It isn’t a door.”
“Erik..” She warned.
“Madame, please.” He began, his voice curt. “I do not wish to make things worse for anyone. I have done enough damage tonight. I have hurt enough people. I do not wish to hurt you.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me.” She said.
That wasn’t what he meant.
He couldn’t have her with him when the mob arrived. Lord only knew what they were capable of.
“Just go. I cannot…”
Cannot have you here before they come…
“I cannot…”
Have you here reminding me that I am a human with feelings before they dehumanize me and take from me all that you have helped build.
“I…”
I am holding onto my sanity by a mere thread and if you hold me I shall fall apart.
“Just open the door, Erik.” Antoinette spoke. Her voice quite soft in spite of the situation.
Erik shook his head in defeat. This was supposed to be simple. Christine leaves, he leaves. Simple.
He leant against the mirrored surface before him and sighed deeply, his breath tracing an abstract pattern on the glass as he exhaled.
So, I am still alive.
He thought bitterly.
He bent down and unlatched the mirror, it slid to the side almost seamlessly and at last he was greeted with the voice on the other side.
Nothing could have prepared him for the fierce embrace he received as Antoinette stepped over the threshold and into his home. It near knocked him over.
“Madame, please.” He spoke, not returning the favour.
“You must get yourself out of here, Erik!” She said, pulling away and looking up at him.
“Why.” He said simply, pulling away from her grasp and walking back toward the lake.
“Why?” She repeated. “Erik, if you wish to end your life because Christine has left it, then be my guest… but not like this!”
“What do you care?” He spat. “I do not care about my life. Why should you?”
“Because I am the one who gave it to you! Or had you forgotten that?”
At this, Erik stood upright. He spun around and marched up to the small woman who had spoken.
“Do not think that I owe you something because of what you did for me!”
“Well, if you do not value your life, why did I bother?” She spat, tears in her eyes.
Erik took a step backward, almost staggering in disbelief at her words.
“H-how could you say that?” He spoke. “You saw what I had to go through… the things I had to…”
“How could you do this!?” She interjected, pushing him roughly. He staggered backward again. “Are you truly this selfish? To think that your actions affect no one but yourself? You may live your life that way but locking yourself away does not make you exempt from the responsibilities of friendship, Erik!”
“Madame, I have no will to live! Can you not understand that?!” He cried, on the verge of tears now. “It is selfish of you to ask of me something that I no longer have the strength to continue with!”
“And do you truly think that you have the strength for this, for what is about to happen?”
Erik gazed out over the lake. They were very close now.
“They won’t just end it, you know!” She shot, an attempt at regaining his attention. His gaze shifted back to her and he stepped closer.
“And what if I deserve this? Did you ever think about that? A monstrous end to a monstrous man!”
Voices sounded in the tunnels.
He smirked.
His absolution was now mere moments away.
“You aren’t monstrous, Erik.” Antoinette argued. She was crying now. “You and I both know that there is good in you! There always has been!”
He looked back at the tunnels for a moment, his clenched fists at his sides, before turning back to her and speaking decidedly.
“Yes.” He nodded. “And here is what is left of it.”
Before she could speak, he had whisked her up, carried her back to the mirror through which she had entered and thrown her into the dark passageway beyond.
“Erik, what… what are you doing!?”
“I trust you know your way back.” He said.
“Erik, please! Don’t do this! You do not have to do this!” She tried pushing past him. She tried pulling him inside with her, but he was too strong.
He had made up his mind.
“My path was decided for me a long time ago, Madame.” He spoke sadly.
A yell sounded from him. They had arrived.
“It is time. You must go…” He said.
“Erik…”
“Au revoir, Antoinette.”
Her mouth opened in protestation, but before any words could escape her lips, the mirror had slid back over the opening. The passageway was once more sealed. That was it. She had failed.
Hello! This was a prompt that is well overdue. Apologies, @meg-louise-giry and thank you for the prompt :) It turned out a little different to what I think you had in mind, but hopefully you enjoy it.
“Erik catches meg doing something her mother would definitely disapprove of and takes matters into his own hands”
Erik
I hadn’t left my home in a month. I hadn’t the strength.
After seeing Christine on the rooftop with the boy, I could no longer bear to look at her or be near her. They were all I could think of. Their caresses, embraces… their words.
My heart broke on the rooftop that night and all I wanted was to be away from them. For weeks, their voices taunted me. I could hear their declarations in my head as I attempted to sleep; tainting my every thought.
And so I turned to the only thing that had ever offered me solace when memories and thoughts plagued me.
Music.
I began writing an opera. It hadn’t begun as any sort of homage or declaration to Christine. At first, I’d just used it as I’d always used my music; escape. Though, as I was writing, it became something else. I couldn’t help but imagine the voices of Christine and myself behind the two main characters. When I regained my strength and my resolve I would show it to her. I would finally be able to express to her how I felt through the very same medium that had always connected us.
Of course she had chosen Raoul. She hadn’t known how I truly felt because I had never told her. She would stop being afraid of me and perhaps she would return my feelings…
Hope began to build up inside me once more, and for the first time in weeks I felt as though I had enough strength to leave my home and see her. Not to speak to her, no. It hurt me that she was frightened of me but I did not wish to make her uncomfortable. I would simply glimpse her, and return home.
I was watching from above the stage. I wasn’t able to gain the same view as I had weeks prior due to the incident. I hadn’t bothered concealing the fact that I was responsible for Buquet, and so the rafters above the stage were crowded with more stage hands than was necessary.
As soon as she came into view, my chest began to ache. Christine was rehearsing. She made a gesture to one of the other girls; I supposed she was teaching her something. They both laughed. She was so beautiful. I wanted to be there… I just wanted to be around her.
The ache in my chest worsened when I saw le Vicomte approach her. I wanted to yell. I wanted to cry out, just to let her know that I was there – as well as him… that she had two options. But I knew that was foolhardy.
They shared a few words and embraced. Then Christine left. Having suffered enough, I too was about to leave, when something unexpected happened…
Raoul headed further backstage and seemed to be speaking with someone between some old backdrops. I had never understood the management’s predilection to hoarding old props and set pieces. It was one of the many aspects of those fools that irritated me beyond belief. Today however, I found myself wishing there were more set pieces cluttering the wings of the stage, for if there were, I would never had seen it.
Raoul was speaking with Meg.
And he was doing more than that.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How could he? How could she?
Again, I had to refrain from crying out, from stopping what was happening. These were the two people closest to Christine. Meg was her most trusted friend. Raoul was courting her. How could they do this to her?
I had to tell her!
But how could I hurt her like that when I had already done enough?
I found her in the chapel.
Entering like a regular person was dangerous, I knew this. I had learnt ventriloquism for this very reason. But after everything, I had to speak to her face to face, even if it terrified her. I couldn’t use tricks. Not anymore. She knew who I was now.
She sat facing the small image of her father, staring at it as she often did, perhaps praying to him… asking him about the Angel of Music; about me. Asking him why on Earth he had filled her head with that story when it would only complicate her life later…
I felt horrible. I had no idea where to begin speaking with her after all I had seen and heard. I hadn’t planned to for some time, through song. What did she think of me? What did she know of me? Did she still see me as her Angel? Or was I now just a murderer; her Angel and the Opera Ghost combined into one heinous creature that would haunt her dreams? She probably hated me, and that hate would grow once I told her what I’d seen. Would she even believe me? How could she trust my words now?
Knowing that if I stalled any longer I would lose my opportunity or my nerve, I spoke.
“Christine.” I began, still immersed in darkness.
Christine froze.
“You…” was all she could say, her voice cold. She didn’t turn around. She still remembered my voice. I didn’t know whether that was good or bad.
“Please, I… I won’t hurt you.” I began. It killed me that she was afraid of me.
“Who are you.” She asked, still monotone.
“I… thought you recognized my voice…” I stammered.
“You know what I meant.”
“Please. Don’t be afraid. I would never hurt you.” If only she knew…
“How can you say that?” She asked. She spun around where she sat, her eyes scanning the darkness in search of me.
“Would you like me to step into the light?” I offered. I was nervous. I was terrified. She hadn’t seen me this close since I had taken her down to my home.
“Yes.” She replied, standing up.
I stepped forward, immediately feeling vulnerable. I wanted to shrink back into the shadows as soon as her gaze met mine.
“Did you do it? Was it you?” She asked.
“Did I do what?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.
“Buquet. It was you, wasn’t it.”
Of course.
I could not lie. I nodded.
She turned away again, disgusted. Then, I understood. I had lived my adulthood without consequence, never accountable for anything – society’s rules did not apply to me because I was outside of it. I had murdered Buquet in my own selfish rage, and barely stopped to think about what sort of effect it would have on the coming months. For the first time in years I felt the weight of that crime sitting heavily on my chest as I stood there before her. Christine; my judge and jury. How would she find me?
She had seen me commit the act… and therefore would be afraid of me, but she had to know that I would never hurt her? Not like she hurt me that very night when she ran to the boy’s open arms after everything I had done for her.
“Why did you say those things about me on the roof?” I blurted out.
She turned back to me.
“What things?”
“Must I repeat them?” I asked.
“You… you were on the roof that night?!” She cried. “What were you doing up there? Watching us!?”
“No! Please believe me when I tell you that I did not follow you up there! As soon as I…” I paused. I didn’t want to say it. “As soon as it happened, I absconded to the roof because I knew people would be searching for me. It’s… It’s part of what I wanted to explain to you, but I didn’t think it through! I hadn’t planned to see Buquet!” I was speaking faster than I normally did – primarily because I didn’t want Christine to cut me off before I’d had a chance to explain the important things. But also because she made me nervous…
“I hadn’t planned to do what I did and spoil your performance. You must believe that, at the very least!”
I noise sounded outside, I shrunk back into the shadows, only stepping out again once I was sure it had moved on.
“I don’t know what I believe!” She replied.
“Christine!” I pleaded. “He saw me! He was following me! He wouldn’t stop unless I did something about it.”
She turned away again.
“Did you mean those things you said?” I continued after a moment of silence.
“I was terrified of you!” She began, spinning around again. “You killed a man! And all very suddenly everything I knew about you, everything I trusted about you was shattered. I had just met you, I wanted to see you again, to get to know you and… the way I had to find out that you weren’t in fact my Angel of Music, that you were the Opera Ghost, was like that?!”
She hated me. How could she not. She was speaking such sense, and I wished I could have seen it from her point of view prior to committing the crime. Perhaps then, Christine and I would be in a different place now. Perhaps we would be courting… or even married?
I began with a phrase I seldom spoke.
“I’m sorry.” I said. “It… it got out of hand.”
“Out of hand?” She cried, seemingly outraged. “Which part? The deception or the murder?!”
“Both! But you would not have spoken to me if I had approached you as a man, with this!” I gestured to my mask.
“I was not terrified of your face! I was terrified of what you did! How can you not know that?!”
“Christine, I would explain all of this to you, properly, if you’d allow me. I know that I don’t deserve the chance, but… I can’t stand knowing that you hate me.”
“You can’t stand it? Well, not everything is about you, is it?”
This was not going well at all. Was I saying all the wrong things or did she truly despise me now?
“Please, we haven’t much time. The rehearsals will be out soon and…”
“…and what?” She asked, her arms folded across her chest. She was incredibly disarming when she wanted to be.
“And… I came here to tell you something.”
“You mean you didn’t come to apologize?”
“Yes! Of course! But… there is something I need to tell you. Something I feel you deserve to know.”
“Alright.” She nodded, moving toward me slightly. “What is it?”
“Well… You are still… courting le Vicomte, I assume?”
She nodded. My chest ached at that simple movement of her head.
I nodded in understanding.
“What about le Vicomte?”
“I don’t quite know how to place this.”
“Just say it, An…” She stopped, perplexed. “What is your name? You’ve never told me.”
I swallowed hard, my nerves threatening to get the better of me. Another of my defenses, destroyed.
“My name is Erik.”
She nodded again, this time eyeing me warily, as though she didn’t believe I could have a name.
“Well, Erik, what have you come to tell me about le Vicomte?”
“I saw him. Just now. I had to tell you because you deserve to know the truth, and you deserve to know it as soon as possible…”
“What is it? What was he doing?”
“He was… with Meg.” I clenched my gloved fists inside my pockets, bracing myself for what was to come.
“Yes…?”
Oh God. Was she really going to make me say it?
“They appeared to be… affectionate toward one another.”
“What?!” She cried.
“You must have seen someone else?”
“No. I know what they look like.”
She thought for a moment before speaking.
“You wouldn’t lie to me?”
“No. Not about this.”
“Just about everything else.”
“Christine, please don’t say that.”
Her eyes began to well with tears.
“I’m sorry, I-I this is not your fault.” She said.
“Don’t apologize. It is not yours either.” I said. I wanted to kill le Vicomte for hurting her like this. “I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you again.”
“I-I need to go and speak with Raoul.” She said, rushing toward the door. At the last moment, she turned back. “Thank you.”
Come back!
I wanted to say.
Stay here with me, forget him!
I was being torn apart on the inside. Love, hatred, yearning... all had stemmed from simply seeing her again, and speaking to her had been tortuous.
But I said nothing.
And though i hardly felt it, I nodded cordially in response. Always a gentleman.
“Erik falls asleep at the Daroga's house. Meg has hot gossip.”
For this one I’ve gone with the movie verse because I’ve just watched it, with the Daroga thrown in. This one’s from his POV.
I didn’t know what to expect upon opening the door, but to my beguilement the little Giry girl stood before me. Immediately, I knew that this would concern Erik; the man that I had finally convinced to find rest in the delirium he had lost himself in. I had left him in my quarters, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. I had told him that torturing himself over what had happened would not take back what he had done, and it would not bring her back. I had told him this countless times over the last few hours; had tried to appeal to whatever Erik was left in the Opera Ghost I guardedly called my friend. But he had ignored me, or, when I pushed a little too hard; said a little too much, he had sworn at me in both his native tongue and mine.
When I suggested that he try to rest I received a mere nod in response; as good as I was going to get from Erik.
“Monsieur.” Meg spoke demurely, adding a brief courtesy. She seemed on edge. She glanced behind me, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for someone. He was indeed there, but he was asleep. Or at least I hoped.
“Mademoiselle…” I nodded. I did not want to ask what her visit was pertaining to for that would have been outwardly rude, but I could not for the life of me guess at what she had come to tell me. I hoped that the message she brought would not make things worse.
“Would you like to come in?” I asked, opening the door further and gesturing for her to enter. “You shouldn’t be out in the cold.
“No, Monsieur.” She spoke, she looked down and continued. “I… must be getting back to maman.”
She didn’t want to enter because she was afraid of my new houseguest – this, I knew. I couldn’t blame her.
“As you wish.” I said. I stepped closer to her. “He… won’t hurt you, you know.”
“Maman seems to think the same thing.” She replied, still looking at the ground.
“Did she send you?”
The girl nodded.
“Please come in.” I offered, stepping back again. “You’ll catch your death out here.”
She shook her head.
I sighed.
“He won’t hurt you, Meg. And aside from that, he is likely asleep.”
She looked at me, as if asking me to convince her further
“Come. I will make us tea.”
We sat at my dining table. It was more of a bench; only being large enough to sit three or so people, but it served its purpose. An apartment in Rue de Rivoli did not allow for much space, but it was all I needed.
Meg sat before me, her tea cup clasped tightly between her small hands in an effort to warm them. She still seemed on edge. Thankfully though, I was quite accustomed to keeping the company of anxious people…
“Maman… she sent me.” She repeated after taking a sip of tea. “She wanted to know if …he was alright. She said it was safer for me. Said that… since the accident people have been asking her questions. They think she is in contact with The Phantom because she used to assist him at the Opera House.”
“Your mother is probably right.”
She nodded.
“He is alive.” I said. “You may tell her that. I would not quite say ‘alive and well’, but he is safe where he is.
Indeed. Erik was far from well. It had been three days since the terrible disaster at the Garnier and I had still not gained any information as to where he had been for those three days. He would not speak of it. Perhaps he simply waited in the caverns, welcoming the mob. Or perhaps he wandered the streets, welcoming capture or death.
When he arrived on my doorstep, he simply pushed past me as he had often done, speaking nothing of what had happened to him or what had transpired days earlier. It was evident that he hadn’t eaten or slept in those three days and was still wearing what remained of is costume from that cursed Opera; Don Juan Triumphant. I had been in the audience that night; had watched it all unfold. I had seen him abscond with Christine, enveloped by the bowels of the Opera House – and that was all. He had vanished, as was Erik’s custom. The rest I had learned from reading the paper the following morning.
Three days later he had appeared in my doorway. Though, he wasn’t scowling as he usually did when he visited me. He wasn’t in a foul mood as he often was. He just looked… broken. He looked lost. I had seldom seen him so vulnerable, and I knew that I lacked the words needed to fix whatever was broken inside of him. So I didn’t try, not until the next day.
Instead, I offered a single word;
‘Tea?’
“She shall be glad to know that.” Meg replied.
I looked down at my cup of tea, thinking of Erik; wondering if he was actually resting at all, or eavesdropping from the other room. I knew that the latter was more probable.
“How is your mother?” I asked
Meg sighed.
“These past few days have been…” She brought her hand to her forehead. “They have been difficult.”
I could only imagine. Little Giry had lost both her home and her livelihood in one night, as had her mother.
“If there is anything I can assist you with, do let me know.” I offered.
She smiled.
“You are very kind, Monsieur. I will be sure to speak to Maman about what a true gentleman you are.”
I smiled amiably.
“How is…” I glanced toward my bedroom, lowering my voice before continuing. “How is… she?”
“I regret that I have not seen her that much since the fire.”
“Ah.” I nodded. Though, I found that unlikely.
“…but, Monsieur. That is the real reason for my visit tonight.”
“Oh?” I’d known as much.
“Christine le Vicomte… They have set the date for their wedding.”
Before I could respond, I heard the bedroom door click open. The last thing I wanted to do was further upset Erik, but perhaps this was for the best?
Meg spun around in her seat, eyes wide, very much aware of the presence that had entered the space. She looked at him, then back at me.
“Monsieur, I… I apologise… I should not have intruded.” She stood up and made for the door
“Mademoiselle, please.” I offered. “Do not leave.”
“I must.” She shot, visibly avoiding eye contact with Erik.
“When.” He spoke; almost a command, his voice dark but clear.
Meg turned to him, but did not meet his gaze.
“Next week.” She said, her voice small. “Wednesday, next week.”
I heard Erik inhale sharply. I turned to look at him, at that moment empathizing more with him than I ever had before.
“Thank you.” He said.
Meg looked up at him then, but he had looked away. I saw in her eyes what I felt. I afforded her a small nod. She returned it courteously before leaving my home. The door closed with a soft thud, and we were left in silence.
I looked at Erik once more, waiting for him to react. He sauntered over to where Meg had been sitting not moments before and sat, facing the door. One elbow on the table, the other hand in his lap.
I sat across from him.
“Erik… I’m sorry.”
His eyes flickered slightly before he looked at me.
Then, just as I had before, I spoke the first thing that came to mind;
“…Tea?”
His smirk turned to a grimace. He took a deep breath and bent over the table, his head resting in his folded arms. His shoulders began to shake, his breath hitching in his chest as the full weight of his situation dawned on him; The night of Don Juan. Christine. His life.
This one is for @jerseyfiredragon20. Thanks for the pillow fort prompt!
This ones a bit more light hearted than the last. Enjoy!
“Tell me something about yourself, Christine.” Erik offered, an uncharacteristically serene smile on his face. “Something from your childhood.”
He loved hearing about her childhood. His mother hadn’t afforded him one, and tales of Christine’s youth filled him with a warmth he had never known. Sometimes he was even able to picture himself there; inside one of her memories. Playing games or speaking to her; enjoying life as a child should. Though, they were different ages. Even in an alternate universe where Erik wasn’t deformed and his mother loved him, it could never had happened.
“I’ve told you a lot about my childhood lately, Erik.” She smiled. “Why don’t you share something from yours?” She placed a hand over his, fully aware of the gravity of this request.
Erik cringed inwardly.
“Perhaps another time.” He replied. “Tell me more about how you would amuse yourself; the games you would play.”
Christine sighed. Another failed attempt at making progress with Erik. She knew that earning his trust would be difficult after the life he had led and her part in that. It had been months since the night of Don Juan and he was still so guarded. There were times where he would betray himself; a genuine laugh, a warm smile, a playful gesture. At these times she was able to see the child inside of him. He would allow her to see the vulnerable part of him that he closed off long ago. Those moments were few and far between, but they were everything to her.
Then, just as quickly as he opened those doors, he would close them again.
“Alright…” Christine began, deciding not to press the question. “Let me think…”
She turned to face him on the bed. In the past few months they had spent many nights just like this; just talking. Taking the time to learn about one another. Most of the time Erik evaded questions and simply asked his own, but Christine was convinced that with time and trust, things would change.
She folded a pillow beneath her head in an attempt to match his eye level.
…Pillows!
She smiled.
“I have something.” She said. “Did you ever build a house from pillows when you were a child?”
“I beg your pardon?” Erik scoffed, sitting up slightly.
“A pillow fort.”
“Christine, are you feeling quite alright?” He teased, placing his hand upon her forehead in jest. “You must be delirious!”
She tisked and pushed his hand away.
“I am not delirious. Have you honestly never tried it?”
Erik took a deep breath, straightening up before speaking.
“No, Christine.”
As a child he was only allowed one pillow, and his mother would take it away from him if he were bad. Apparently, attempting to speak to one’s mother more than once a day warranted this. As did simply being seen by her, given the right mood.
Erik decided against sharing this.
“Perhaps you can show me?” he added, hoping that she wouldn’t probe for answers as to just why he had no clue what a pillow fort was.
“Show?”
“Yes. It sounds silly but you’ve certainly piqued my curiosity.”
“Alright.” She grinned, “I’ll need your help.”
“Are these really all the pillows you have?”
Christine stood with her back to Erik, hands on her hips. She was staring intently at the pile of pillows she had collected and counted three times.
“How many more do you need?” He asked, slowly approaching her. He wanted to embrace her then, wrap his arms around her waist from behind and bury his face in those curls…
Breathe her in…
He had wanted that for months, but he could never muster the nerve. He could not even gather enough courage to drape an arm around her shoulders. But fear was not the only reason. He would not touch her again without request, not after how he had treated her that night. It was enough for now that she was willingly being in his company. These past months were the happiest he had ever been.
He did not want to spoil that.
“We need as many as I say we need.” She shot back at him playfully. “I am the chief architect here, and whatever I say we need, you must find!”
“Christine, if anyone is deserving of the role of ‘chief architect’, it is I. Given that I am the only architect here.”
She laughed.
“You didn’t want any part in this, and now you want to run it?”
“It is only fair.”
Christine rolled her eyes.
“It is only a pillow fort.”
“Yes, well…” Erik began, bending down and picking up one of the cushions on the floor. “Are you going to show me this fort or not? I’m beginning to lose faith in you as our chief architect.”
He gently threw the cushion at her.
Christine caught it and laughed.
“I thought you were the chief architect, hmm?”
She threw It back.
“I believe I can handle the task, Mademoiselle.” He smirked. “And what is the meaning of this?” He gestured the pillow that had been returned to him before throwing it at her once more.
Christine evaded it before picking up two more pillows and throwing them at the man before her.
He missed both of them.
“Would I be right in assuming that you’ve never had a pillow fight either?”
“…No.” Erik replied, holding his arms out before him, incase Christine decided upon another assault. “Is that something I should want to experience also?”
“Not with me.” She warned playfully.
“Well. You seem to have positioned yourself quite close to the ammunition. It would hardly be a fair fight.”
“I suppose you are right.” She smiled.
“Unless….” Erik began. “Look!” He shouted, pointing to a spot on the far wall of the cavern in an attempt to distract her. With Christine’s head turned he began to approach, but he wasn’t quick enough.
She spun around just as he had reached her and in an attempt to push him away, fell backward herself and was almost engulfed by the large pile of pillows she had collected.
“Are you alright?” Erik asked, immediately crouching down beside her to inspect her for injuries. He was delighted to see that she was in fact overcome with laughter, as opposed to pain or distress.
“I’m sorry, Christine.” He offered.
Before she could reply, a familiar voice sounded to Erik’s right.
“What has he done now, Miss Daae?”
Erik knew that the Daroga was speaking in jest, but he disliked it all the same. He had done nothing to harm her and he never would again.
“Perfect timing as always, Daroga.” He mused.
“What is it that you two are doing with all those cushions?” The Persian asked as he approached.
“This is our pillow fort.” Christine giggled.
“Yes, and there are no Policemen allowed, Daroga.” Erik added dryly.
“Fort.” Nadir remarked, both surprised and amused by the situation. Erik looked exasperated, as though he couldn’t figure out why he had just been enjoying himself; couldn’t believe he had just been laughing aloud. Doing normal things. Feeling normal feelings. “It looks like a pile of pillows to me. Erik, I thought you were an architect?”
Erik and Christine looked at one another and smiled.
Erik rolled his eyes.
Christine shrugged.
“Your mess, Erik. You’re responsible.” She teased.
Erik smiled back. God, he loved her.
“Erik, may I discuss something with you in your study?”
Irritated by the interruption, Erik sighed as he stood.
“I’ll be right back.” He said, looking down at Christine.
Kiss her.
No, don’t kiss her! Are you insane?
Touch her. Hold her. Anything!
Do not lay a hand on her. Why would she want to be touched by you after what you’ve done? Just walk away.
“Alright.” Christine smiled.
He took a large step out of the pile of pillows and cushions that seemed to have envelop Christine. About to turn away, Erik could have sworn that he felt her fingers brush his own.
Hi guys! Just a quick note that I'll be away for a few days. I'm going on a little trip and won't be taking my lappy. I'll still have my phone, but I won't be able to answer any writing prompts or post more chapters til after the weekend. For those who have sent in prompts, I haven't forgotten them, they'll be up soon. :) Send me anything in the meantime and I'll get to it when i get back. 👍🏼 Your obedient servant... ...no... too much? Too much. :)
