After The Opera Burned || Phantom Of The Opera

Chapter 16 - Backfired

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to ShaniaGonzales for being a faithful reader who leaves me tons of encouraging comments!

The song used in this is actually by a dear friend of mine with minimal words changed to better fit this story. He gave me his CD a few weeks ago and I have been listening to this song non stop. I hope you enjoy!

Erik stopped playing his piano as he heard the front doors shut behind the group of people. He knew Meg, Mme. Giry, and Nadir all went in hopes of winning over the opera managers at the Spanish Opera House in hopes Meg could perform and earn them some money. He sighed, shaking his head as he stood from the piano bench and slowly walked over to his window. He watched as the three of them began entering the carriage, Meg trailing close behind her mother. Nadir took a look back to the house, gazing up at Erik's window as he tilted his head, obviously trying to see if Erik was watching.

Erik knew Nadir couldn't see him and yet knew Nadir was aware he was watching. In truth he was proud of Meg and all she had accomplished, seemingly depressed but working hard and gracefully to achieve her dreams, and for that he admired her. Perhaps he should learn how to deal with his own emotions himself instead of constantly composing, but without his muse it was hard to continue life as he knew it before.

Any opera house was going to remind him of his former days in Paris; remind him of the nights he composed, sketched, sculpted, and sang for and with Christine. Oh how naive she was, to believe him to be an angel and to only realize he was nothing of the sort. He chuckled at her innocence and moved away from the window, not wanting to glance at distant memories when he had work to be done.

He walked to the small table by the piano and sipped on some tea one of the chef's made him in the mornings, a nice chai tea that he had oddly had a craving for since arriving in Spain. He had sipped this tea only once back in Persia and found he felt indifferent towards it's taste, but now that he craved it, he had no idea where the desire for it came from.

After placing the tea back down on the table, he made his way back to the piano, sighing as he looked at his newest creation. It was a simpler melody, one of which he had composed for his feelings for Christine and if they ever were to meet again. A soft piano, or perhaps another instrument of some sort, would accompany the vocals of the song, which seemed filled with an odd mix of desire and sadness.

He promptly sat down on the bench, his mind taking him away from the room he had spent so much time in and back into his lair back in Paris. The walls now a gray stone and his piano was again his organ. He brushed his fingers over the keys gently, treasuring this vision that was playing tricks on his mind. It was the only way he found peace recently and if he were to be mad, so be it.

His fingers began pressing the keys while the urge to sing his creation came to light. It was for a male to sing, unlike most of his songs that required a soft soprano's voice. The intro was now finished and he began to sing.

"Don't look at me with those warm brown eyes. I get a feeling that's so hard to fight. The one who loves me isn't here tonight and it wouldn't be right to be with you tonight.

"Don't look at me with those warm brown eyes. I'll be telling massive lies and when I look into those warm brown eyes I would lose my mind if you would be so kind.

"I want be your friend, I want to be your lover and I don't want this night to end. I want it to go on forever. Angel can't you see what you're doing to me?

"Don't look at me with those warm brown eyes and please don't smile that incising smile. My heart is beating nearly twice it's time and I'm trembling inside. Think I'm losing my mind!