Fiction: Strange Duet (for sparklybee) (PG-13)
Title: Strange Duet
Author: phantomlady84
Canon: ALW stage
Pairing(s): Erik/the mannequin
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Erik, maddened by unrequited love, turns to the comfort of his own creation- the mannequin.
Warnings (if any): none
Total word count: 2611
Original prompt request number: 52
Strange Duet
Love me, that’s all I ask of you…
No…no…NO!!! My silent screams of protest echo in my head, unheard, unheeded, as Christine reaches for that miserable fop, Raoul. He draws her nearer, away from the cold, pulling her petite form into his and smothering her lips with his own. I pray with all my soul that she will recoil from his brash affections. To my horror she returns his kisses, so sweetly, so tenderly…The exact way I’d always imagined she would kiss me…
I feel as though the very breath has be wrung out from my lungs. I reach out weakly but, for the first time in my life, am unable to speak or move. I can only watch as they continue with their osculation, my own mouth agape. Bile rushes up the back of my throat and my knees begin to quake wildly. I collapse, still unable to tear my gaze away from Christine…My hands feel cold and I realize that I’m clenching fistfuls of snow, squeezing it until it melts away. Oh, Christine…how could you? How could you…
One thought pierces through my shrieking soul- blood. I would have blood! His blood! I could descend upon the happy couple, take them by surprise, throw the covetous bastard off the roof…I could imagine peering over the edge, watching his pathetic form as it grew smaller and smaller until it finally hit the hard, unforgiving ground below. Then, I could take Christine back with me, down through the cellars to the place where no one dares to venture, down to my kingdom!
But before I can act on my mad thoughts I realize that I am alone on the roof, they’ve gone. I jump to my feet and run to the spot where Christine stood but a moment ago…her scent still lingers in the air…I take a deep breath, throw my head back and let loose a deafening, savage howl. My voice, ragged and full of pain, fills the night sky with a furor that would send the most vicious beast from the darkest corner of the deadliest jungle running in fear.
I don’t remember going inside. I don’t remember the mad dash I must have made to get to the apex of the grand dome that encases the ceiling of the theater. I move mechanically, guided by some unseen spirit…I am a puppet to my own rage. I realize that I am laughing in a most heinous manner as I release the chain that holds the massive chandelier steady. The crystals tinkle, quietly at first, but the magical sound slowly builds to a thunderous rattling commingled with the screams of the opera house patrons below. In a glittering flash the chandelier falls, meeting the ground with the most satisfying sound of shattering glass and, perhaps, the thud of a body or two. Blood…not Raoul’s blood, but blood none the less…I inhale deeply the smell of chaos; a curious blend of sweat and expensive perfume. Then the image of Christine’s kiss stabs through my mind once more and my rage is renewed. I loose one more blood curdling howl and, like a wounded animal, retreat to the sanctuary of my lair.
Down in my sheltering confines the commotion above is but a dull rumble. No, down here there is no Paris, there is no opera, there is only me…alone…
Hot tears spill out of my mismatched eyes, my sobs echo throughout the cavernous expanse. My chest still heaving, I sit down at the massive organ. Music, sweet music, please relieve my pain, be the soothing balm to my wounds… I let my fingers dance over the keys, playing the first song that comes to mind- Bach's Passacaglia & Fugue in C Minor…a nice funerary tune for the death of my heart. I close my eyes, lean my head back and begin to play. From the start I can’t play the right notes. My fingers lack their normal agility, falling like clumsy leaden blocks upon the delicate keys, massacring the music. I cannot play, there is no music left in me! She was my music and now, there is only silence…I grit my teeth and pound upon the keys with my fists, the abrasive dissonance booms like an underground storm. With a growl I jump up from the seat, sending it toppling. My hands are beyond my control, grabbing statuary and candelabras, hurling them in all directions. I find a stack of sheet music I’d been working on, the beginnings of an opera over which I’d spent many an hour laboring…With a wicked grin I shred the pages and fling the scraps into my lake, laughing as they slowly sink into the depths…
In the midst of my rage I feel a presence watching me…taking in a trembling, shallow breath, I whirl in around and find that I’m standing face to face with Christine. Christine! Here, in my home…had she changed her mind? Come back to be with me, only me?
“Darling! I knew you loved me!” I run to embrace my beloved but come to a crashing halt inches from her lovely face.
“Oh…” With a pained grimace I reach out and touch her hand…not the hand of my angel, but the cold, stiff hand of the mannequin I had designed in her exact likeness. Lightly caressing the back of the hand with gloved fingertips, I marvel at the smallness of it, how well it fits in my own.
“My love…” I press the unfeeling hand to my lips, bathing it with kisses and tears. Though this beautiful doll pales in comparison to the flesh and blood being after which she was created, I know that she is as close as I will ever come to the real Christine. And she is beautiful…I’d gone to great pains to ensure she was an exact model of my love; stealing her measurements from the costume tailor, spending hours watching my angel as she slept, sketching her likeness at every angle…later sculpting those angles with brutal exactitude until my hands fell numb at my sides…I even collected strands of hair from her brush every night until I’d accumulated enough to tie together with a pink ribbon. I then sent the glorious tress to Italy, to the finest wig shop in the country, where they crafted for me a silken postiche that could have sprouted from Christine’s own blessed head.
I let the limp, lifeless hand fall and gently run my fingers through her russet curls, taking up a handful of the heavenly softness, inhaling deeply. I’d managed to pilfer a vial of perfume from Christine’s dressing table…My little doll even smells like an angel!
I feel myself start to loose control once more. I bury my face in her hair, weeping into the lilac scent…
“Oh, Christine…” I guide my hands up her the graceful curve of her back, then back down the length of her unmoving arms.
“Please, Christine…” I encircle my arms around the tiny waist, crushing her against my chest, praying that hearing the wild beating of my heart will stir some life within her.
“Don’t you know how much I love you? That I cannot live without you?” I seize her by the shoulders and look imploringly into her eyes. Nothing wakes in her blank, glassy stare.
“Why? Why won’t you answer me? Why won’t you love me?!?!“ I shake her small, frail frame. The rattling of her head is her only reply to my pleas. My chest burns with immeasurable agony and I shake her again, harder this time. Nothing.
“It should have been me up there on the roof with you! That fool isn’t worthy to kiss an angel, my angel! Do you hear me? He is like a parasite, clinging to the pure white feathers of a swan…Don’t you know that my love is the only love that is worthy of your own? Don’t you?” I scream, still shaking her. At last, her head nods in agreement.
“Yes! You do understand! You and I, we have the same soul…the same wandering soul that longs for the shelter of music…you and I are one!” Abandoning all rationality I scoop Christine into my arms, vaguely aware of the clatter that comes as her stand drops to the ground. Hungrily, madly, I kiss her lips, praying to the gods that they will part for me, that I can finally taste the sweetness of her mouth…They remain shut to my ministrations, like iron doors barring out a filthy criminal. I sob against the pale, waxen lips and kiss her again, as hard as I can, clutching at her delicate form. Had she been flesh her body surely would have been bruised, perhaps even broken, beneath my insistent grasp.
“Please, Christine…” I murmur against her neck, tracing it’s elegant outline with my mouth, down to the clavicle…desperately kissing the harsh, unyielding breast that draws no breath. Oh, God! Why, why was Pygmalion so fortunate… why should his love have been granted the gift of life, when mine lies so limply in my arms? Why?!!
I return to her lips in one last, futile attempt to gain entry…my frustration becomes too much to bear and I pull her away, holding her at arms length by her delicate shoulders. Her head hangs flaccidly, her hair wildly tousled. Her dumb stare sends me into a frenzy…I shake her again, this time with fury rather than tender pleading.
“This is pathetic. Do you hear me? PATHETIC!“ I roar, my voice reverberating in a most terrifying manner. Without thinking I swivel around and fling her as with as much force as I can muster. As I watch her white satin wedding dress flail in the wind I am suddenly crippled with horror. Now it is I who am but a lifeless dummy and she who is fully animated, flying like a dove over the lake.
“No!“ She breaks the surface of the water with a splash, landing face down.
“No! What have I done?” My will returns and I wade out to my sinking Ophelia, finding her pale form easily against the murky darkness. I pull her out of the water and carry her back to safety, holding her as one would hold a sleeping child.
Gently, penitently, I right her stand and place her on it, composing the dripping limbs so that they hang gracefully once more. Then I fetch a handkerchief and lightly blot her pallid face.
“There, there…it’s alright, my darling. No harm done…” I pull the wet strands of hair that cling to her face away and look into the glassy eyes, begging for forgiveness. She stares coldly ahead…Surely she must hate me now…
“I’m so sorry…” I mutter, turning away like a guilt-ridden dog. My steps are slow and heavy as I trod to my bed. I fall into it, not even bothering to remove my soaked clothing.
***
Erik…
Hours later I awake with a start. I swear I heard someone calling my name! I sit up, straining to hear. The only sounds are the faint sloshing of my lake and the soft crackling of burning candles. I shake my head, the voice must have been in my dreams…
Erik!
I hear it again, this time stronger and more adamant. I leap from the bed and run to the foyer of my lair, turning wildly in all directions, searching for the source. For a moment I’m not even sure I’m in my home…there’s a fog rising from the lake and the whole place is lit in a pale blue, ethereal light…so strange…
Erik…
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach as I realize where the voice is coming from…I turn slowly to face the mannequin. She remains just as I had left her…but I’m sure that’s where the voice had come from! I approach tentatively.
“Christine?” She says nothing, but to my amazement her eyes appear to blink, glancing in the direction of my pipe organ. A clear headed man would have attributed the slight movement of her eyes to the trickery of flickering candle light, but I knew better…she was trying to tell me something! Again, she blinks! She looked at the organ again!
“What is it, dearest? Tell me…do you wish for me to play?” Her glassy eyes dance excitedly! Trembling I sit down at the organ, playing a piece by Mozart which I know to be her favorite. But her eyes! They seem to narrow in disapproval.
“You don’t want to hear Mozart…what, then?”
Write something.
Her voice is everywhere and nowhere…I draw in a sharp breath and wait for her to speak again, feeling as though I could jump out my skin with pure anticipation at any moment.
Write a piece for me…music that is the sound of exactly how much you desire me, tell me through the notes…then, I shall come to you…
Yes! Of course! I would write a new opera…one that conveyed my deepest yearnings for Christine…she’d been hypnotized by my song before…if I were to unleash a composition of full potency she’d have no choice but to come to me!
Laughing merrily I grab a stack of fresh parchment as I plot out the new opera in my mind. I would write a lover that would make that fool Raoul look like the simpering little brat that he is…I would be the ultimate lover…I would be Don Juan…and I would triumph!
For six months I slaved over that opera…eating and sleeping only when sheer necessity drove me to do so. The time of it’s completion coincided perfectly the manner in which I wished to bestow it upon my managers.
***
On the night of the Masque Ball I am equipped with an emboldened sense of confidence. Dressed in royal finery, I stride across my lair to Christine. I take a deep breath, puffing my chest out and standing in a stately manner, leaning slightly against my cane.
“Well, darling? What do you think?” Her eyes seem to travel all over the blood red fabric that hugs my lithe form, twinkling when they reach my great, plumed hat. I sense her silent approval and laugh contentedly.
“I have something to show you…” I turn and retrieve a black leather portfolio from my desk. I hold it out to her, lightly caressing her cheek with the folder.
“Do you know what this is, my love? I’ve done what you asked of me…written you an opera…into every word, every note, I have sewn all of myself…all of my desire for you…soon, my love, you will be mine!” Her eyes dance happily and I know that she is pleased. I bow to her, tipping my plumed hat.
“Now, you must forgive me, but there is a party that I must attend. Farewell, beloved.”
As I step into the skiff and push away, I glance back at my Christine. She smiles, baring her beautiful white teeth. For a moment I consider jumping out of the skiff and running to her, to meet the lips that had finally parted. Her melodic voice floats through my mind, however, distracting me.
Show them, beloved. Show them all how we belong together.
My cruelly formed lips twist into a smile against the inside of my mask. Yes, Christine…I will show them, and you will be mine.
The End
Author: phantomlady84
Canon: ALW stage
Pairing(s): Erik/the mannequin
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Erik, maddened by unrequited love, turns to the comfort of his own creation- the mannequin.
Warnings (if any): none
Total word count: 2611
Original prompt request number: 52
Strange Duet
Love me, that’s all I ask of you…
No…no…NO!!! My silent screams of protest echo in my head, unheard, unheeded, as Christine reaches for that miserable fop, Raoul. He draws her nearer, away from the cold, pulling her petite form into his and smothering her lips with his own. I pray with all my soul that she will recoil from his brash affections. To my horror she returns his kisses, so sweetly, so tenderly…The exact way I’d always imagined she would kiss me…
I feel as though the very breath has be wrung out from my lungs. I reach out weakly but, for the first time in my life, am unable to speak or move. I can only watch as they continue with their osculation, my own mouth agape. Bile rushes up the back of my throat and my knees begin to quake wildly. I collapse, still unable to tear my gaze away from Christine…My hands feel cold and I realize that I’m clenching fistfuls of snow, squeezing it until it melts away. Oh, Christine…how could you? How could you…
One thought pierces through my shrieking soul- blood. I would have blood! His blood! I could descend upon the happy couple, take them by surprise, throw the covetous bastard off the roof…I could imagine peering over the edge, watching his pathetic form as it grew smaller and smaller until it finally hit the hard, unforgiving ground below. Then, I could take Christine back with me, down through the cellars to the place where no one dares to venture, down to my kingdom!
But before I can act on my mad thoughts I realize that I am alone on the roof, they’ve gone. I jump to my feet and run to the spot where Christine stood but a moment ago…her scent still lingers in the air…I take a deep breath, throw my head back and let loose a deafening, savage howl. My voice, ragged and full of pain, fills the night sky with a furor that would send the most vicious beast from the darkest corner of the deadliest jungle running in fear.
I don’t remember going inside. I don’t remember the mad dash I must have made to get to the apex of the grand dome that encases the ceiling of the theater. I move mechanically, guided by some unseen spirit…I am a puppet to my own rage. I realize that I am laughing in a most heinous manner as I release the chain that holds the massive chandelier steady. The crystals tinkle, quietly at first, but the magical sound slowly builds to a thunderous rattling commingled with the screams of the opera house patrons below. In a glittering flash the chandelier falls, meeting the ground with the most satisfying sound of shattering glass and, perhaps, the thud of a body or two. Blood…not Raoul’s blood, but blood none the less…I inhale deeply the smell of chaos; a curious blend of sweat and expensive perfume. Then the image of Christine’s kiss stabs through my mind once more and my rage is renewed. I loose one more blood curdling howl and, like a wounded animal, retreat to the sanctuary of my lair.
Down in my sheltering confines the commotion above is but a dull rumble. No, down here there is no Paris, there is no opera, there is only me…alone…
Hot tears spill out of my mismatched eyes, my sobs echo throughout the cavernous expanse. My chest still heaving, I sit down at the massive organ. Music, sweet music, please relieve my pain, be the soothing balm to my wounds… I let my fingers dance over the keys, playing the first song that comes to mind- Bach's Passacaglia & Fugue in C Minor…a nice funerary tune for the death of my heart. I close my eyes, lean my head back and begin to play. From the start I can’t play the right notes. My fingers lack their normal agility, falling like clumsy leaden blocks upon the delicate keys, massacring the music. I cannot play, there is no music left in me! She was my music and now, there is only silence…I grit my teeth and pound upon the keys with my fists, the abrasive dissonance booms like an underground storm. With a growl I jump up from the seat, sending it toppling. My hands are beyond my control, grabbing statuary and candelabras, hurling them in all directions. I find a stack of sheet music I’d been working on, the beginnings of an opera over which I’d spent many an hour laboring…With a wicked grin I shred the pages and fling the scraps into my lake, laughing as they slowly sink into the depths…
In the midst of my rage I feel a presence watching me…taking in a trembling, shallow breath, I whirl in around and find that I’m standing face to face with Christine. Christine! Here, in my home…had she changed her mind? Come back to be with me, only me?
“Darling! I knew you loved me!” I run to embrace my beloved but come to a crashing halt inches from her lovely face.
“Oh…” With a pained grimace I reach out and touch her hand…not the hand of my angel, but the cold, stiff hand of the mannequin I had designed in her exact likeness. Lightly caressing the back of the hand with gloved fingertips, I marvel at the smallness of it, how well it fits in my own.
“My love…” I press the unfeeling hand to my lips, bathing it with kisses and tears. Though this beautiful doll pales in comparison to the flesh and blood being after which she was created, I know that she is as close as I will ever come to the real Christine. And she is beautiful…I’d gone to great pains to ensure she was an exact model of my love; stealing her measurements from the costume tailor, spending hours watching my angel as she slept, sketching her likeness at every angle…later sculpting those angles with brutal exactitude until my hands fell numb at my sides…I even collected strands of hair from her brush every night until I’d accumulated enough to tie together with a pink ribbon. I then sent the glorious tress to Italy, to the finest wig shop in the country, where they crafted for me a silken postiche that could have sprouted from Christine’s own blessed head.
I let the limp, lifeless hand fall and gently run my fingers through her russet curls, taking up a handful of the heavenly softness, inhaling deeply. I’d managed to pilfer a vial of perfume from Christine’s dressing table…My little doll even smells like an angel!
I feel myself start to loose control once more. I bury my face in her hair, weeping into the lilac scent…
“Oh, Christine…” I guide my hands up her the graceful curve of her back, then back down the length of her unmoving arms.
“Please, Christine…” I encircle my arms around the tiny waist, crushing her against my chest, praying that hearing the wild beating of my heart will stir some life within her.
“Don’t you know how much I love you? That I cannot live without you?” I seize her by the shoulders and look imploringly into her eyes. Nothing wakes in her blank, glassy stare.
“Why? Why won’t you answer me? Why won’t you love me?!?!“ I shake her small, frail frame. The rattling of her head is her only reply to my pleas. My chest burns with immeasurable agony and I shake her again, harder this time. Nothing.
“It should have been me up there on the roof with you! That fool isn’t worthy to kiss an angel, my angel! Do you hear me? He is like a parasite, clinging to the pure white feathers of a swan…Don’t you know that my love is the only love that is worthy of your own? Don’t you?” I scream, still shaking her. At last, her head nods in agreement.
“Yes! You do understand! You and I, we have the same soul…the same wandering soul that longs for the shelter of music…you and I are one!” Abandoning all rationality I scoop Christine into my arms, vaguely aware of the clatter that comes as her stand drops to the ground. Hungrily, madly, I kiss her lips, praying to the gods that they will part for me, that I can finally taste the sweetness of her mouth…They remain shut to my ministrations, like iron doors barring out a filthy criminal. I sob against the pale, waxen lips and kiss her again, as hard as I can, clutching at her delicate form. Had she been flesh her body surely would have been bruised, perhaps even broken, beneath my insistent grasp.
“Please, Christine…” I murmur against her neck, tracing it’s elegant outline with my mouth, down to the clavicle…desperately kissing the harsh, unyielding breast that draws no breath. Oh, God! Why, why was Pygmalion so fortunate… why should his love have been granted the gift of life, when mine lies so limply in my arms? Why?!!
I return to her lips in one last, futile attempt to gain entry…my frustration becomes too much to bear and I pull her away, holding her at arms length by her delicate shoulders. Her head hangs flaccidly, her hair wildly tousled. Her dumb stare sends me into a frenzy…I shake her again, this time with fury rather than tender pleading.
“This is pathetic. Do you hear me? PATHETIC!“ I roar, my voice reverberating in a most terrifying manner. Without thinking I swivel around and fling her as with as much force as I can muster. As I watch her white satin wedding dress flail in the wind I am suddenly crippled with horror. Now it is I who am but a lifeless dummy and she who is fully animated, flying like a dove over the lake.
“No!“ She breaks the surface of the water with a splash, landing face down.
“No! What have I done?” My will returns and I wade out to my sinking Ophelia, finding her pale form easily against the murky darkness. I pull her out of the water and carry her back to safety, holding her as one would hold a sleeping child.
Gently, penitently, I right her stand and place her on it, composing the dripping limbs so that they hang gracefully once more. Then I fetch a handkerchief and lightly blot her pallid face.
“There, there…it’s alright, my darling. No harm done…” I pull the wet strands of hair that cling to her face away and look into the glassy eyes, begging for forgiveness. She stares coldly ahead…Surely she must hate me now…
“I’m so sorry…” I mutter, turning away like a guilt-ridden dog. My steps are slow and heavy as I trod to my bed. I fall into it, not even bothering to remove my soaked clothing.
***
Erik…
Hours later I awake with a start. I swear I heard someone calling my name! I sit up, straining to hear. The only sounds are the faint sloshing of my lake and the soft crackling of burning candles. I shake my head, the voice must have been in my dreams…
Erik!
I hear it again, this time stronger and more adamant. I leap from the bed and run to the foyer of my lair, turning wildly in all directions, searching for the source. For a moment I’m not even sure I’m in my home…there’s a fog rising from the lake and the whole place is lit in a pale blue, ethereal light…so strange…
Erik…
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach as I realize where the voice is coming from…I turn slowly to face the mannequin. She remains just as I had left her…but I’m sure that’s where the voice had come from! I approach tentatively.
“Christine?” She says nothing, but to my amazement her eyes appear to blink, glancing in the direction of my pipe organ. A clear headed man would have attributed the slight movement of her eyes to the trickery of flickering candle light, but I knew better…she was trying to tell me something! Again, she blinks! She looked at the organ again!
“What is it, dearest? Tell me…do you wish for me to play?” Her glassy eyes dance excitedly! Trembling I sit down at the organ, playing a piece by Mozart which I know to be her favorite. But her eyes! They seem to narrow in disapproval.
“You don’t want to hear Mozart…what, then?”
Write something.
Her voice is everywhere and nowhere…I draw in a sharp breath and wait for her to speak again, feeling as though I could jump out my skin with pure anticipation at any moment.
Write a piece for me…music that is the sound of exactly how much you desire me, tell me through the notes…then, I shall come to you…
Yes! Of course! I would write a new opera…one that conveyed my deepest yearnings for Christine…she’d been hypnotized by my song before…if I were to unleash a composition of full potency she’d have no choice but to come to me!
Laughing merrily I grab a stack of fresh parchment as I plot out the new opera in my mind. I would write a lover that would make that fool Raoul look like the simpering little brat that he is…I would be the ultimate lover…I would be Don Juan…and I would triumph!
For six months I slaved over that opera…eating and sleeping only when sheer necessity drove me to do so. The time of it’s completion coincided perfectly the manner in which I wished to bestow it upon my managers.
***
On the night of the Masque Ball I am equipped with an emboldened sense of confidence. Dressed in royal finery, I stride across my lair to Christine. I take a deep breath, puffing my chest out and standing in a stately manner, leaning slightly against my cane.
“Well, darling? What do you think?” Her eyes seem to travel all over the blood red fabric that hugs my lithe form, twinkling when they reach my great, plumed hat. I sense her silent approval and laugh contentedly.
“I have something to show you…” I turn and retrieve a black leather portfolio from my desk. I hold it out to her, lightly caressing her cheek with the folder.
“Do you know what this is, my love? I’ve done what you asked of me…written you an opera…into every word, every note, I have sewn all of myself…all of my desire for you…soon, my love, you will be mine!” Her eyes dance happily and I know that she is pleased. I bow to her, tipping my plumed hat.
“Now, you must forgive me, but there is a party that I must attend. Farewell, beloved.”
As I step into the skiff and push away, I glance back at my Christine. She smiles, baring her beautiful white teeth. For a moment I consider jumping out of the skiff and running to her, to meet the lips that had finally parted. Her melodic voice floats through my mind, however, distracting me.
Show them, beloved. Show them all how we belong together.
My cruelly formed lips twist into a smile against the inside of my mask. Yes, Christine…I will show them, and you will be mine.
The End