The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

Everybody Leaves

Erik

After the endless dreams of pain and thirst, I woke up in a dark and unfamiliar room. I tried getting up, but a sharp pain flashed across my abdomen, forcing my head back onto the pillow.

What happened to me?

I felt up my midriff and found it was thickly bandaged. The moment of stabbing came back to me, bringing forth a new wave of discomfort, so I calmed down to reconstruct the evening's events.

The last thing I remembered was leaving La Fenice and taking the alley that would help me get home unnoticed, but I didn't make it far before I collapsed. Too much blood, too deep a wound. And then -- nothing, followed by darkness, feverish dreams, pain and this room.

The windows were shut, the curtains pulled. My eyes were adjusted to darkness, so I noticed a glass of water on a small table within my reach. I gulped it all down, regretting my decision moments later when my body convulsed in pain and I dropped the glass. The sound of smashed glass was then followed by the sound of hurried steps somewhere beyond the door.

Automatically, my hands flew to my face. Unmasked! Fear pumped through me. Wherever I was, these people have already seen me. There was a sound of unlocking before the door opened. Of course -- I was a prisoner. Even worse, the normal side of my face was noticeably unshaven. How long have I been held here?

A dark-haired man rushed into the room, taking quick assessment of it, then relaxed when he saw that I was still in my bed.

I pressed the right side of my face into the pillow to hide my deformity, all the while glancing at the man, who tossed me one brief look and then proceeded to open the curtains and clean up the mess. He did not speak to me, but his impassive face failed to show any disgust or fear either. Despite his medium height, he moved with an elegance and dexterity of an athletic person, and in my current state, it could be risky to engage in a direct physical conflict should the need arise.

My heart beat wildly, and I burned with indignation and rage at the shameful, helpless state I was in. The man mopped up the shards and, cautiously glancing at me to see that I was still lying down, he exited the room and locked me up again.

The view out the window told me that I was still in Venice. How far from Christine? How close?

I tried getting up, pushing against the mattress, but my arms felt like all strength was drained from them. I was too lightheaded and exhausted to further rage or panic over my situation. So be it, then. I will suffer this demeaning position until I am stronger.

And then what?

I was forced to put these thoughts aside when the voices arose from outside my room. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it didn't sound Venetian, Italian or French. Then, the man entered again, bringing in what looked like food. He placed the platter with nothing but a bowl of soup on the bedside table, careful not to look at me, even though I kept my face covered with my hand and buried into the pillow.

The man left without a word once more. Taking in account the water incident, I was now more cautious with the soup. It felt as if I didn't eat for ages, which again got me wondering about the passage of time. My overall weakness was another clear sign that it's been at least a couple of days since Don Juan's La Fenice premiere.

I returned the platter to the table and returned my thoughts to that night.

In the end, I succeeded at everything but in capturing and persuading Teggio to give up his vendetta. My original plan had been to pass judgment upon myself, but once I chose to spare his life at all costs, I saw my judgment reflected in Christine's eyes instead, and felt her pride in my restraint. It felt like a blessing.