phantom of the opera oneshots, originally published on AO3, FFN, and Tumblr (under the same username!)
all of my phantom oneshots will now be published here instead of in my oneshots book :)
cover by BrendaDaaeDestler!
A promise broken yet again. He seemed to be quite the expert in that area. Betraying people that mattered to him, that is. First Christine, his dear Christine, and now Nadir, his only friend in the world as well.
Erik rubbed at his eyes, his fingers coming away damp from the tears that had been pooling, then set his hand against his forehead with a sigh. His grand illusion, his alter ego, the Phantom, had finally been brought to his knees. The Garnier burned, he was forced from his home (if one could even call it that), and now, he lay on a pathetic excuse for a bed in a dark hovel tucked away in a backstreet of Paris.
He had paid a pretty penny to get a room on his own, though he suspected his threatening demeanour would have been enough to convince the owner of the dump he was in to leave him be. Either way, he just needed a place to lay low before he could make a proper escape. Not being able to hide meant getting caught, and getting caught meant his inevitable execution, but he was set on evading death yet again.
He hadn't gotten much sleep, as much as he wished he could just forget everything that had happened that night, but closing his eyes brought it all back; strangling Piangi, dragging Christine down to his lair, practically choking the young Vicomte to death while he forced Christine to make a choice that no one should ever have to make. His shame all came flooding back if he thought about it too hard.
He hadn't even flinched when he'd thrown and tightened his garroting wire around Piangi's neck. Hardly broke a sweat. He had treated it like something so mundane, so routine, as he'd felt the twitching stop and grabbed the tenor's cloak to run onstage and join Christine in their duet. It was like nothing he had ever said about killing people, killing the innocent, mattered anymore.
Buquet, he could justify. That man had snooped around too much for his own good, yes, but he had preyed on the young, innocent ballerinas too much for Erik to allow. They may have irritated him with their giggling and gossip, but they didn't deserve to be ogled and harassed the way they were around that man, he had earned his demise. Piangi, on the other hand...he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Nadir had made him promise not to kill again after he left Persia. How could he possibly hope to explain this, what had happened? He couldn't even be sure that he could sneak down to the Rue de Rivoli and be welcomed into his friend's home. Perhaps he wouldn't even be allowed to consider Nadir a friend anymore.
And Christine. His darling Christine. He had betrayed her in the most spectacular way; he would never be worthy of her love, her affections, her concern. He had ruined that, but he hadn't even hesitated. He had gripped that wire around those men's necks just as tightly as he ever would, no matter what was at stake. Even the love of the only woman he had ever loved in his entire life.
Fresh tears filled his eyes and he rolled over to bury his face in his pillow to hide from his own shame, choking out a sob as he began to entertain the idea of slipping the garroting wire around his own neck. Why not end it all? He'd betrayed the only two people who might have mourned his death; now that he'd lost them, what would it matter if he was gone? No one would even notice.
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