based on my own little insecurities can be read with charles dance's phantom or the susan kay version, that's all, have fun 𓆩🥀𓆪
She looked at herself in the mirror with a disgusted frown. She hated how she looked. How all these traits undermined her important qualities.
At balls she had been called desirable more often than she'd have liked, how men wished to be with her. She was also called pretty, by a stranger on the street who did not know her. Like an art work, meant to be admired from afar, yet nothing more than canvases, an empty space behind it.
Her stomach turned at the thought. She was a doll to them, someone they could use then discard carelessly. A pretty face, nothing more.
She felt like the dark wasn't enough, she willed her face to twist into something grotesque, to be loved for who she was, for the things she has done.
The little journal found its way into her hand once more and she only wrote a few sentences. She couldn't bear to think about it and her stomach churned.
Erik admired her, so much no ode could ever compare. She was everything he did not deserve. She loved him and so did he.
Part of that love were poems she scribbled in that notebook, poems which he sometimes turned into songs. He wanted it to be a surprise. Cautiously he was flipping through the pages, searching for a piece he hasn't finished composing to.
Then a prose caught his eye.
Erik read the small, almost insignificant note, the writing was crooked and hurried but the words cut deep.
Ô toi, le plus beau des anges Un dieu au cœur brisé, trahi par le destin Prince outragé de l'exile
She hated herself. And he did nothing to help her.
When she crossed the underground lake, she found Erik on the island, a little red book in his hand. Shit.
She scrambled out of the boat to get to him, she took the journal with much more force and vehemence than she needed to.
"Mon ange, talk to me" he pleaded, following her into the guest bedroom.
"I'm sorry you had to see that. I did not mean any harm by those lines."
Erik sat on the edge of her bed warily, turning her around by the hip. She didn't want to let him at first, but there wasn't much she could do anyways. His hands cooled her somewhat and leveled her thinking.
"Tell me" he asked again.
She went closer slowly, deciding to sit beside him. They did not brush shoulders, she was too vulnerable and he did not care for physical contact much.
"I hate myself, Erik. I'm vain, nothing but a shell. It's pointless, living like this. Everyone treats me like I'm stupid because of how I look. It's nothing I can help. Sometimes-" her voice cracked.
"Sometimes I wish I looked like you, to know how it feels to be recognised by talent and not a pretty face. And sometimes I think that's all I am to you."
She was crying, tears streaming down steadily on her cheeks.
He.... did not know what to do. Erik took her hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it.
"My darling, I apologise. I did not mean to make you feel like that. I would never purposefully do it."
He pressed a kiss on her fingers "The world is the hell of prejudice, for which we both suffer. Talent is not recognised if you lack the physical and facial charm. But you're so much more than that to me. You're like the moon, beautiful and sometimes unreachable, admired from afar but desired to be known. A thousand poems could be written about you and every one would be just as beautiful, not enough to express how wonderful you are."
He took both her hands in his, lifting them gently to his lips and breathing the faintest kiss on them.
" I know how you feel, mon ange. I know it all too well, and I hoped you would never feel what I did. But I love you, with flaws and all."
Then an idea came to him. Some of the very first poems he found in her journal, by accident or by fate. He led her out gently and sat her on the organ bench.
He pressed a few keys, humming a unknown melody. Then his soft baritone accompanied it.
Deep in the past You know what it meant to me Just a dream Yet something so real I need you to feel I need you to come with me
She gasped. The words were familiar, she remembered writing them some time ago. She could sing with him, quietly, not to bother Erik with her own voice.
And if you tell me you love me Oh now tonight Well maybe it's wrong Maybe it's right You believe it now too And you couldn't live without me Die without me
Erik pressed the last keys then added one last verse, entirely his own.
Toi, qui enseigne aux damnés, par l'amour même, la voie du paradis Viens avec moi, viens avec moi
Tears stung in her eyes again, for an entirely new reason. She was finally loved, for her mind and heart, not her body. And it was the most wonderful thing ever.
𓆩🥀𓆪
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No but the phantom and goth music are the perfect combination, so obviously they're singing a london after midnight song (which was the base for the title)
FRENCH TRANSLATION O thou most beautiful of angels A broken-hearted god, betrayed by fate
Outraged Prince of Exile Thou who teaches the damned, by love itself, the way to paradise Come with me, come with me
